


Kyoudaikouhai Daikirai (/ss/ Hatefucking Amongst Siblings)

by Tas_tan



Category: Original Work
Genre: /ss, Bukkake, Cheating, Cum Vomit, Dirty-talk, F/M, Fat Ass, Incest, Paizuri, Pubes, Sloppy, Sweat, Titjob, Tsundere, hatefucking, musk, onee/shota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tas_tan/pseuds/Tas_tan
Summary: A brother well below the age of 10 and a sister just slightly above the age of 20 engage in a depraved sexual relationship with one another despite not liking one another very much.  The disgusting endowment of the former and the general sexualization of the latter make their hatred for one another debatable.How much is up to you.





	1. Chapter 1

_10:01AM: Babe, is everything alright? You just cut out of class at lunch. lmk if everything is alright_

_10:01AM: You left your school bag, too. Want me to bring it over?_

——————

_11:22PM: Seriously, is everything good?_

_12:30AM: _ **Yeah, sorry. I'm okay. Was just feeling sick, so I went home.**

_12:30AM: _ **I didn't meant to worry you. You're really sweet for checking in on me.**

12:31AM: _Oh, lol. You coulda just told me. I'm glad it's nothing serious_

12:31AM: _Anyway, no worries. I'd have bailed on class, too. Are you feeling better now, though? You’re up really late_

_12:35AM: _ **Mhm, I'm fine. My little brother was here, so I at least had someone to look after me.**

_12:36AM: Cool, cool_

_12:36AM: Anyway, if you're feeling better, do you think you'd be down to chill? I have to bring back your bag anyway_

_—————————_

_12:00PM: Babe?_

_12:30PM: **Sure. Just woke up**_

_12:30PM: **I gotta babysit my little brother for a few hours If you don't mind hanging out here for a bit before, that's fine**_

_12:31PM: Yeah, that's cool. See you in like an hour?_

_12:35PM: **Sounds good. Love you **_ **♥**

-

**A KITCHEN—THE EARLY AFTERNOON**

Seated within a kitchen bathed in the sunlight of a promising Saturday afternoon was a little boy with a smartphone. Bed-headed and facially fatigued, his appearance was that of a child fresh from an untimely tumble out of bed. A boyish combination of t-shirt and pajama pants clothed his decidedly juvenile frame, and the mussed black hair atop his head obscured the sort of androgynous, 'button-cute' facial features deemed by the average mother as ‘ideal’.

What the boy busied himself with flavored his appearance with hints of maturity. Whilst his right hand occasionally tipped the rim of a child-sized plastic mug against his lips, his left busily thumbed at the screen of the phone set within his palm. For every few sips of warm milk that he drained past his lips, his thumb typed additional words into the input window of an active message chain. At the same time, his eyes scanned each of the messages sent in response to ensure that the words he chose for his sentences remained appropriate.

While impactful, the time that he invested into these activities was fleeting. 5 minutes into seating himself at the kitchen's dining table, he discarded the colorfully-sleeved smartphone into a short slide across the table's face.

With this, his voice applied yet more unsettling maturity to his presence.

“Wow, what a fag. He really just took that without asking more questions?” he suggested aloud. “I get that they're a couple, but the way he writes makes him seem kinda retarded. Him being stupid is probably necessary for her to get by at this point, but it's still no excuse for not thinking.”

Leaning back in his seat, the boy flicked his gaze up into a fixed stare at the ceiling above him. There was nothing there for him; training his eyes towards something whilst thinking aloud was a habit he had long since resolved live with.

“Not my problem, I guess. Why am I even thinking about it? I must still be sleepy or something…” exhaling in derision, a tired yawn followed his utterance on its way out. Once cleared, a smile bloomed across his lips. “I should probably let her know what's about to happen, though. It doesn't change anything for me, but she'll probably enjoy having a reason to pretend to get all pissy again…”

Seemingly much more pleased with himself, the little boy drained the remainder of his milk past his lips and stood. Briefly collecting the smartphone he had discarded atop the table, he afterwards set out of the kitchen altogether.

On exit from the kitchen's top-most entrance way—his being a kitchen built with entrances that bled into the first floor's top and bottom halfs—he took a sharp right turn to begin making his way up the house's sole staircase. At its peak, he again ducked to his right to see his progression bent towards the bedrooms that he and his older sister occupied.

His was the first to left. Where he ought to have stopped to open its door, he instead continued past it and the bathroom door ahead of it on his way towards the door at the very end of the hall.

Unlike those before it, this one was cracked ajar—just wide enough for a child to have slipped through it.

Smirking wider still at the sight of it, he slipped through the child-sized crack back into the room's interior. The first step that he took re-introduced half of his frame to a sex-scented humidity liable to make even the most sexually-seasoned of adults blush. Seemingly indifferent to it, he took his second and third steps through the pungent haze with no more urgency than the first.

It was not as though he couldn’t smell the pungent mix of sweat, semen and sexual fluid threaded into the room's air. The shift in temperature wasn't lost on him either—contrary to the absence of perspiration on his skin.

He was simply accustomed to them. More so than any child should have been.

The end of the little boy's stride left him directly opposite the foot of a bed. For a time, he stood in silence and gazed across its face in search of the largest stretch of hilled bed sheets atop it.

Then, he flopped. Climbing atop the mattress on bent knees, he positioned himself just behind the hill of sheets that cut the mattress down the middle and tipped himself into a face-first collapse against it.

On contact with the mattress’ surface, the mound of sheets the boy had avoided stirred, and later groaned out in protest of his ‘carelessness’.

“Oh my god, am I not even allowed to sleep now?” it complained. “Do you have any idea…”

Briefly taken aback, the mound cut its utterance short in favor of further writhing. When this proved futile in relation to its unseen ends, it discarded the sweat-scented sheets draped atop its mass entirely.

Out from under them appeared a young woman. As naked, sweaty, and disheveled as could be expected of the bedroom’s owner, a pouty youthfulness remained apparent in both her drowsy facial expression and haggard posture.

Potent as they were, these took nothing away from the rampant sexuality that defined her frame.

Like the boy to her left, the young woman owned a full length of matted, blueish-black hair. Whereas the majority of the smooth strands could be found hooked, curled, and sprawled away from their usual downset, misplaced bangs sat plastered to both corners of her face by a mixture of sweat...something else.

Unlike the boy to her left, the young woman’s body from the neck downward was that of a vibrantly overdeveloped young woman. Beneath a neck and upper chest peppered with the occasional bruise were breasts larger than her skull by several orders of magnitude. Described shortly, the sacs of flesh were watermelon-sized gumdrops topped by mountainous, soft-pink areola and meatier-still nipples. These melons ‘hung’ from her chest with the perkiness of fresh marshmallows skewered to the tip of a pin. Their weight and the absence of any sort of support underneath them did cause them to sag over her midsection as one might expect, but the sheer amount of fat and flesh packaged into them made both appear as though they were firmly affixed to her chest.

Predictably, the midsection below these breasts owned a pinchable layer of fat atop their abdominals. Notable yet hardly excessive, the pudge could be overlooked as a natural consequence of a young woman’s owning G-Cup breasts.

The same was true of her hips and thighs, albeit much more arguably. Presently, a portion of her lower body remained covered by the remainder of her bedsheets, and a stretch of body from her skull to the midsection of her thighs remained exposed to the open air. Beneath the bow-shaped ‘U’ of sleek, fat-padded hip structure at her middle were a succulent pair of puffy cunt lips slickened by both arousal and semen. Though plump and dusted just slightly with hair, the gleaming mounds owned the same mild bruising as her neck, and also displayed evidence of recent (and excessive) use. Even now, portions of the semen-loads blasted between them oozed lazily from between them into contact with the sheets beneath her frame. More incriminatingly, curled pubes very different from those that dusted the mound’s peak were glued to their exteriors at numerous positions.

To either side of the mounds were thighs sculpted to match the young woman’s breasts. Thick, wide, yet somehow devoid of loose skin and stretch marks, the slabs of flesh were devoid of anything that a healthy male might describe as a ‘fault’.

This was because they didn’t have any. The absence of muscle tone and rigidity about their surface was made up for with a squishy, pillow-sized thickness that was completely uniform. Inner sides lightly drenched by female lubrication and top-sections scrawled with marker strokes ranging from “FUCKING CUNT TO “ to “STUPID BITCH“, there was no one place about their exterior that one could turn to in search of decency. Like her breasts, all that they had to offer was a ripened and excessive juiciness meant to be squeezed, groped, and abused by the opposite sex.

Contrary to what they presented, the young woman’s owning these features had yet to render her braindead. After the initial poutiness she displayed, the restoration of her consciousness brought with it a venomous discontentment...

Or venomous by the standards of a seemingly teenaged girl.

“Stop taking my fucking cellphone with you when you get up. It’s rude and you have your own…” she continued, eyes glaring at the boy at her side. “You don’t see me leaving with your shit whenever I’m in your room…”

Incensed, the young woman leaned down from her seated position over to an imposing loom over the little boy's frame. Indifferent to his comfort, she rummaged through his sweatpants pockets one after another until the tips of her fingers brushed up against the smartphone that had been taken from her.

With it in hand, she produced a flop of her own. Returning to a back-first sprawl atop her mattress—this one only partly obscured by her bedsheets—she began sifting through the applications on her phone in search of updates she might've missed whilst asleep.

Or at least she attempted to. Less than two apps into the sprawling list that she made frequent use of, the contents of a dm chain that she had intentionally ignored shot both her eyes wide open.

“Milo...” initially breathless, the young woman used the absence of oxygen within her lungs as an opportunity to sit back upright and posture towards the boy at her side.

Only then did she allow herself to explode; she needed the youth to both hear it and see it.

“Why the FUCK would you text him like that!? Are you fucking stupid or something? He's actually going to come here now and I look and smell like complete shit!!” she screamed, voice charged with concern. “WHY do you ALWAYS do shit like this?! Do you think I enjoy having to peel your gross pubes off of my face and chug mouth wash to make sure I don't smell like your dick when I talk?!”

Still in disbelief, the disheveled girl whipped her gaze between the face down boy at her side and the phone within her hand.

“Ohmigod, I don't even have time for that! You actually let him suggest an hour? That's it, I swear to fucking god this is the LAST time I let you fuck me. If you're going to keep doing this, you can go back to jerking off or something...”

Behind these words, the young woman sprang from out of bed in search of a change of clothes and a shower. In time with the explosive gesture, the thus far silent boy atop her bed peeled his face out of contact with his pillow. Keeping his chest flat against the bed throughout, he shone a drowsy smirk in her direction at an angle where she was certain to see it.

Then, he spoke.

“You shouldn't use words like 'let' so much, Milla...” Milo yawned. “The only thing you _let _me do is fuck your throat until you end up puking whatever cum you swallowed on your own. Everything else you do because you want to do it.”

Made to grit her teeth and clench a fist in anger, Milla took up a pillow conveniently discarded by her feet and launched it at Milo's face.

Had she the option, she'd have thrown something else.. A number of other objects sat close enough for her to reach out for, but her Pride demanded that she show restraint.

A sister willing to seriously harm her younger brother was no sister at all.

“SHUT UP. STOP TALKING!” she exclaimed. “I need to concentrate on cleaning up and you're not helping!”

“I **meant **what I said, too! If you're going to keep doing shit like this, I'm not going to keep putting up with it! Now get the **fuck **out of my room so I can deal with this!”

In this outburst was an anger and intent oft brandished by older siblings in hopes of making their younger counterparts cower in obedience. Milo, however, did not cower. No more affected than he had been prior to the impact of a pillow against his face, his peeling the fluffy object off of his face coincided with a shift of tone all his own.

“Do you really think that any of this is my problem? **You're** the one who decided that she wanted to try having a boyfriend when you spend most of your time with my jizz leaking out of one of your holes.”

Somewhat more focused on the 'task at hand', Milo sluggishly rolled his way back to his feet and into a focused stride towards Milla.

“If you're going to pretend, you kind of have to do a good job—otherwise, there is no point. The guy...I keep forgetting his name. Whatever. He's stupid enough for you to get away with whatever you want, but if you don't respond to him regularly, what 'good boyfriend' wouldn't start to worry about what his **cock-breathed bitch** of a girlfriend is doing while he isn't around?”

With this, the extent of Millia's displeasure ruptured her composure for good.

“Stop talking to me like I'm stupid, Milo! You're just a little piece of shit that I have t—LET GO!”

In the midst of her retort, Milla felt her younger brother's palm slide into her own. Before she knew it, she found herself being dragged back towards the bed that she had stormed away from.

Though her body owned the weight and strength required to resist a child, she refused to make use of them.

She knew better than to try.

“But you are.” leading his eldest sibling right back to the foot of the bed, Milo pointed towards it with his right hand and tipped his skull upwards to address her. “And now you're going to deal with it. That guy coming over here has nothing to do with us, so lay back down so I can finish using your cunt. If you still want to bother trying to 'clean up' after that, go ahead.”

Suddenly, Milla's heart sank. Her temper burned hotter than ever, but the reality that had been plated and shoved at her by her brother now seemed more real to her than ever.

She couldn't refuse—she had taken that privilege away from herself years ago. Navigating the boy's demands and her boyfriend's impending arrival wasn't impossible, but doing so was sure to affirm her as a lying whore to the young man that she was doing her utmost to 'like'.

If she was to have any sort of success, a compromise was necessary: One that she would have to buy.

Fortunately, the currency that she required remained in reach even now.

Without unclenching her fist or wrenching her hand out of Milo's (both of which remained well within her ability to perform), Milla stepped inward past the youth and turned to seat herself at the lip of her mattress.

And then she loosened. Displeasure and discomfort persisted across her face, but their severity was much more petulant—relative to the peak of her temper, at the very least.

“…I know you’re not going to budge on this Milo, but come on. If you have you have to do this, can you please just fuck my tits or something?”

Now, the slightest hint of pleading could be heard in Milla’s tone. Those unfamiliar with her methods might’ve taken this as another form of pouty ultimatum. But, as one of very few people capable of working this tone from her throat, Milo was certain to hear the utterance for what it was.

This was what Milla counted on.

“If you cum inside me again, I’m not gonna have time to clean up properly. I already reek of fucking nut and look like total shit; anything more and it’s going to be totally obvious to (name) what happened.” she continued. “I’m not going to take up for any of that other shit you said, but if you care about me at all, can you show me? Just this once?”

**“I’m your sister.”**

Milla chose her words as carefully as she could, and in doing so scrounged up just enough ‘currency’ to buy her way through her situation.

Milo could have refused her. He could have stood ahead of her completely blank-faced in expectation of the ‘usual’. But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Not after hearing her press the foremost of the forgotten ‘buttons’ between them.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and dumped his hands down into contact with his hips. Utterly silent, he peeled the pajama pants that enveloped his lower half down along his legs and dropped them into a heap at his ankles.

In doing so, he exposed himself right in front of Milla’s face. First at the root and then altogether, his efforts dragged a perversely oversized and impressively vascular erection out from its bundling at his crotch into a pungent droop ahead of his sister’s face.

The reeking pipe was nothing new to Milla. Its seed had been flushed inside her holes and splattered against her skin countless times. There was hardly an inch of meaty real estate on her frame that had not been made a rag for its grease in the years that she had spent with the boy.

Nevertheless, the reaction that she produced at the sight of it was the same one that she had produced when first she had suggested that she and her brother ‘fool around’.

She was dumbstruck.

Much like the boy it was attached to, the well-used trunk owned a fleshy peach complexion that sat on the border of ‘healthy’ and ‘diluted’. Its basal coloration hardly mattered in most cases—hours of consistent use had left its nose slightly redder, and the foot of flesh behind it a darker and exteriorly glossier shade of pink. The glaze of sweat and sexual fluids fucked into its flesh could be seen just as easily as they could be smelled; Milla’s position ahead of the throbbing loaf guaranteed this.

Really, the basic appearance of her brother’s erect cock had never interested Milla much. As she had been from her first minute exposed to it, her interests remained invested in its qualities. The girth of Milo’s cock exceeded that of her forearm. When at its most pent and imposing, it rivalled that of her fist: a stark contrast to what one would expect of a developing little boy’s endowment. From glans to root, her eyes measured it at a deliciously gut-wrenching 14 INCHES in length, and affirmed its dimensions as being more comparable to a fluffy loaf of submarine bread than a human arm.

Taking in these measurements sent her mind back to the night before. For hours on end, the same sex-smeared log had been jack-hammered in and out of her holes to the point of failure. The remnants of its release burbled within three of her internal organs, and the pleasure that it had induced within her throbbed within her mind like a stretch of thigh flesh freshly branded by an iron. Best (or worst) of all, the interior of her womanhood began to quiver and drool in recollection of what had been done to it.

Seconds of looking over his cock induced these feelings within her, yet she continued to stare. Ignoring its punishing underside entirely, she indulged in the turgid rod of urethra flesh that bisected its surface from glans to root. Thinner veins sized as plump tendrils could be seen layered atop it throughout its trip to his shaft’s base, but these curled away from the rigid tube just as often as they extended beside it and atop it. It really was as though thinned, wriggling serpents had been petrified within the pipe’s meat and denied movements more vigorous than a wriggle.

Somehow, she had come to love this cock.

More than her boyfriend.

More than her decency.

And more than herself.

Though obviously taken with the glossy erection, Milla did not intend to gawk at it forever. After taking in her usual ‘fill’ of it, she intended to question her brother as to his compliance as sternly as she could as his older sister.

Hers was not a body (or mind) designed for strong intent, however.

Abruptly, the questions that she hoped to answer for herself were answered by Milo’s hands. After clasping the fringes of her shoulders, the impression of a childish weight against them cued her frame to fall backwards. Doing so by way of reflex, she soon found herself scrambling backwards into a position flat on her back.

Milo followed directly behind her. Climbing back atop her bed, the boy set himself into a knee-spread straddle atop her frame before finally speaking to ‘alleviate’ her concerns.

“Only this once. You’re on the hook for two other things if you really want it that way, too.” he began wearily.

Brow furrowing, the ‘usual’ Milla returned.

“F-Fine, fuck, whatever. Just tell me what it is so you can start and I can shower.”

Reaching down with both hands, Milo mashed his palms into a hopeless mush against the face of Milla’s breasts. Peeling the mounds away from one another as best as his miniature limbs could manage he worked a manageably-sized crease open between their wobbling masses at her chest’s center. Once exposed, a deft outward flick of his hips primed his member to ‘fill it’.

And it did. Upper body supported by the palms pressed against Milla’s breasts, Milo produced a controlled thrust of his hips that snugly buried his unwashed mast into the puffy ‘tit-pussy’ he had fashioned from his sister’s breasts. At its end—a point marked by a wet *PLAPP♥* of his crotch against the underside of her breasts—the meat of his erection had disappeared. Only the very tip of his member remained free of the sweaty mounds’ embrace; a testament to the equivalent ‘excess’ that defined his and Milla’s frames.

Firmly rooted, a playful (and much more elated) smirk spread across his face.

“To start, you have to make your tits worth fucking. If that’s all I can use you for, you should at least be able to make it seem as fun as fucking your throat or something.”

In the time Milo spent speaking, Milla had clenched her thighs together for fear of what might have spilled between them if she didn’t. Restraining herself in this way was no longer as ‘resource consuming’ as it had once been; (something about breast flesh).

  
“Y-Yeah, and? Look, just start thrusting already. I-I’ve already agreed to this shit, so just have your fun so I can get out of this stinking bedroom and take care of—”

“You’re going to wear any cum that gets on your tits or face out with your boyfriend. I’ll help you come up with an explanation for it, but if you don’t want to walk around with jizz on your face, you’ll just have to make sure that everything ends up between your tits.”

Milla was no fool; she understood unfairness when she heard it. Putting aside the fact that Milo’s request would prevent her from showering properly, ‘holding’ whatever disgusting load of seed she managed to work out of his balls between her tits or on her face whilst with her boyfriend almost defeated the purpose of her compromise altogether.

Still, it was better than nothing. Whilst reeling from the ultimatum, she began to feel the mass of cockmeat plugged between her tits drawn backwards against their glossy plush. Whether she agreed or not at this point was irrelevant. With or without her complete consent, the boy atop her chest was going to fuck her breasts.

The only thing left for her to do was somehow ensure that he didn’t do so for longer than was necessary.

“I really hate you. L-Like more than anything else.” Milla exhaled, pouting. “If I had known you were gross enough to make me wear your nasty fucking cum between my tits, I’d have never asked for something else to begin with.”

Only part of the discontentment implied by her words could be heard in her voice. If anything, the tone given off by her utterances was that of acceptant exasperation.

“So you don’t wanna do it?” Milo suggested, grinning visage fixated opposite hers.

“No, I will. But if you don’t actually help me with this shit…”

Finally utilizing the size advantage she maintained over her brother, Milla raised her right arm away from her side and pressed it across the face of her bust as a horizontal bar. Subsequently, she curved her palm into a hearty squish against the right side of her bust (a pointless act given the amount of fat and flesh that spilled out from it), and finally squeezed the limb inward so as to compress her breast meat inwards on the cock set between them.

Having made her sticky, flesh-heated masturbation toy that much hotter and tighter, she afterwards produced an incensed frown that somehow did not seem like a ‘frown’ at all.

“I’ll come up with an excuse to bring you along and force you. Now can you hurry up and start?”

-

**BROTHERS AND SISTERS**

Milo had not been entirely honest with his sister whilst defining the terms of their compromise. In reality, neither of his requests were truly conciliatory. Milla's breast flesh made as good an orifice as any one of her holes with the right seasoning, and on a given day, forcing her out in public whilst stained, reeking, and partly 'cream-filled' with his seed was just as satisfying as swelling one of her holes with a few loads of his seed.

His withholding this information from her came from a place of youth. Granting Milla the knowledge that the use of her body was capable of satisfying him to such an extent would make it seem as though she was something more to him than a means to an end. As well, the 'event' he had organized against her will (her boyfriend's sudden arrival) would have gone to waste if he didn't impose _something _on her.

Motivations aside, he couldn't have held himself back even if he wished to. No matter their indifference and sexual depravity, younger brothers were want to derive inane amounts of pleasure from giving their elder sisters ‘trouble’.

In keeping with his often-held 'appearance' and following through with the instincts within his gut, Milo made the most of the minutes that followed his sister's suggestion.

Before anything else, he focused himself on turning the first thrust he had completed between her breasts into an unrelenting chain. First, he dipped his front down to an acutely-angled hover over-top Milla's breasts and skull. When the midpoint of his abdominals were squished into contact with her breasts' excess, he backed the plant of his knees downward by several inches and wrenched his crotch outwards with another flick of his hips. Through this, nearly half of his freshly 'breast-greased' shaft was yanked from his sister’s flesh sleeve in an instant.

Wasting no time, Milo crammed all of these inches back through the humid hole with a slovenly *CLOP!*. Memorizing the effort whilst pleasure rippled up his spine, he immediately began to volley between wrenching and slamming his member out from and in between Milla's breasts.

No sooner did the pattern of stuffing and sliding begin did it become abrasively masturbatory. Curled depressions weighted with the entirety of his pint-sized build skewered Milla's canal of breast meat with the smoothness of a steamroller against fresh tarmac or whatever it is steamrollers are used to flatten. The slanted blows were impressively feral for a child, but to begin with, the 'fuckhole' surrounding his length was designed to be penetrated with ease. Between the sexual grease lathered to the exterior of his length and the natural perspiration produced by her breasts, the tightness that Milla had added with her forearm became irrelevant. Faced with the vein-swathed girth of his shaft, her breasts remained a slimy, sex-sculpted orifice capable of accommodating even the most obscene of erections.

In short, so long as Milo applied himself to his thrusting pattern, gutting it as an expensive, store-bought masturbation toy would be both easy and pleasurable for him.

This was not to say that any of the 'ease' or 'pleasure' he enjoyed was normal. For another male, thirty seconds of railing a pent erection through a seemingly endless sleeve of moist, friction-warmed breast-flesh—flesh blended to a perfect weighted squishiness—would have been enough to drain a massive orgasm from out of their balls. The ease with which Milla's 'tit-pussy' could be penetrated was likely to tempt such a man into the same thrusting pattern Milo had chosen, thereby accelerating the arrival of their release even further.

Milo was spared such things. The sole consequence that he **did **endure—if one were to go as far as defining it as a consequence—was the impression of a smirk at his lips that made it impossible for him to speak without an inflection of excitement.

“So even after all of this, you're still willing to make yourself sound retarded when you talk. Nice.” making certain to speak over the perpetual *PLAP-PLAP-PLAP* of his crotch against the underside of his sister's breasts, Milo derided her suggestion a full half-minute after she produced it. “How would forcing me to come along make things better for you? All that'd do is guarantee that your boyfriend gets to see what you look like right after getting fucked inside a bathroom or something.”

“Do you really think I'd just follow along and stick up for a useless slab of fuckmeat like you? That'd be an even bigger waste of time than fucking your tits like this.”

As could be expected of the woman who played 'holster' to Milo's cock several times throughout a given day, Milla was not overwhelmed by the thrusting pattern that the boy had chosen. Its speed and aggression did require her to grind her thighs against one another with more urgency, but this level of stimulation would have been a given regardless of the method he selected. If anything, the seconds that her brother had spent fucking her breasts were more irritating and revolting to her than they were pleasurable.

But not by much.

“G-God your cock fucking reeks. You got up way before me—why the fuck didn't you take a shower?” muttered Milla. “And you **would** help me, dumbass. You don't have to pull your punches when we're alone, but everywhere else, you've got to be nice to your 'big sister', don't you? Otherwise, this all falls apart and you lose your favorite set of holes.”

If hypocritical, the correctness of Milla's retort could be seen in the reaction it yielded from Milo. Rather than ignoring his sister outright or focusing his attentions further on his thrusts, childish frustration began working its way out of his throat.

“You're one to talk. You agreed to walk around with my cum between your tits and you're complaining about me? Anyone with half a brain who saw you after waking up would think you were about to puke jizz all over yourself.” he hissed.

“And whose fault is that?” Milla spat. “I'm a way better fuck than anything you're ever going to have, yet you still take forever to get a load off. You're the one who makes everything so gross and hard, not me!”

Another half-truth. Milo's orgasms were far more frequent than Milla had suggested. The sex shared between them typically scrambled her memories concerning the events, which in turn resulted in their blending together. More effort could have been placed into the organization of her memories—effort that Milla instead put towards making her little brother feel a semblance of embarrassment.

Slighted, MIlo’s ire worsened. Hilting his member between Milla's breasts with another wet-sounding thrust of his hips, he intentionally held himself at this position and denied himself further pleasure.

He had all of the time in the world to satisfy himself. Milla didn't— not unless she wished to welcome her boyfriend into the house with a cock between her breasts.

Recognizing this, Milo pushed his torso upright.

“Is that so? Jeez, I guess **I'****m **retarded one.” he exhaled, wistfully. “If it's been my fault this entire time, you should be able to make me cum by yourself no problem, right? After all, weren't you the same confident little dick-sleeve that promised that fucking her tits wouldn't be boring?”

Upright, Milo was situated perfectly to sneer down at Milla as he spoke. Much to his surprise, actually doing so was far more satisfying than he had expected it to be.

“All I've been doing so far is jerk off with all of the fatty meat on your chest. **Obviously** a dick-breathed bitch like you can do better...silly me….”

Milla did not have time to feel slighted by her brother's insults. From the moment he stopped thrusting, every second that she spent arguing with him would become a second wasted.

As such, she expressed her anger through motion. Pushing her torso upright, she forced Milo from out of his straddle atop her midsection down into a seated position atop her lap. This done, she undid her single-armed compression of her breasts and raised both of her palms up into contact with the outer sides of her breasts. Then, in yet another expression of wordless focus, she pressed them inwards. Knowing the dimensions of her brother's shaft more intimately than an embarrassing number of other subjects, she applied a slanted compression of her breast-flesh against his glans in the shape of a stereotypical roof (/\\). Using these pressure points as a means of manipulating the entirety of both of her breasts, she began sliding her cock-scented pillows up and down along the erection trapped between them.

All of a sudden, the lubrication smeared between her breasts was put to work in her favor. Throughout Milo's short-lived thrusting chain, blurts of cloudy precum had been dragged from his length amidst its countless breeches from the peak of her breasts. So voluminous was the goo spurted into the canal that, towards the end of his ministrations, differentiating the squelching and clapping noises fucked from between her breasts as something other than the penetration of a sopping cunt became impossible.

Now, these noises alluded to something even better. Mere strokes into the kneaded ascents and flattened descents, a raucously greasy *SCHLHP* could be heard from the beginning of a given descent up through the ascent that followed it. The sole interruptions for the arousing slurps came when her breasts’ undersides were dropped down to numerous *SPLOTCH!*es against Milo's crotch.

Just as Milo had, Milla waited until she had complete control of her ministrations before meeting her brother's demand in kind.

“You're such a little piece of shit, I-I swear. After I prove to you how full of shit you are, maybe I'll just stay with him for a few days...” she spat. “Then what're you gonna do, huh? What're you gonna do without your **stupid** pig sister to grind out all of those disgusting loads into?”

“That's right: nothing. So shut the fuck up and cum already so I can take my tits off of your dick!”

Keeping to the pattern of response he had established, Milo repelled Milla's retort with another even more selfish and vitriolic in nature. Strangely, though, this one sounded much less genuine than its predecessors.

There could be no disputing the boy's belief in what he was saying; where insulting his sister was concerned, he rarely ever joked. The difference was in their bite—the bite that had ignited and now sustained his sister's temper. For as much as the words themselves were offensive, their intonation suggested that Milo was saying them merely to say them. As if to remind his sister that no matter how potent a surprise she drew from her whorish 'hat', some part of him would always remained detached.

But this couldn’t be true. If he was truly detached from his circumstance, he’d have chosen to say nothing at all.

“No waaaaay. Is this the same whore that was complaining about being sore and tired a few minutes ago?” he suggested, airily. “If it is, she might actually accomplish her goal if she could keep her mouth shut and focus on it.”

With time, something changed within Milla as well. As her words grew more venomous and her aggression more severe, enjoyment began to seep into her tone. A sort tuned such that only one male would be capable of hearing it.

“Says the little brat whose cock keeps throbbing every time I squeeze my tits just the _tiniest_ bit. You’re so full of shit, Milo. You’re my brother, but you’re totally full of shit.” she chuckled.

To which Milo replied,

  
“Having fat tits just means you’re better off getting fucked than you are doing anything else with your life. Didn’t they teach you how the human body works in highschool, Milla?”

To which Milla replied,

“All I hear is ‘Wahhh, wahhh, please tit-fuck me more, Milla. I’m so fucked up that I can’t just ask, so I need to force you to do it instead!’ “

“No one asked you to talk through this, Milla.”

“No one asked you to respond to any of this, Milo.”

“Then stop.”

“I will.”

Milla was the first to move, but her approach only beat out her brother’s by a pair of seconds. For reasons that the adult woman had failed to describe to herself for over a year, she pushed her skull inward overtop her breasts, then down towards parity with her younger brother’s skull. Meeting his approach near a halfway point, she parted her lips just in time for their arrival into contact with her own.

Elated by their contact, she spread her lips wider still. Thinking nothing of the act or its implications, she injected her tongue into the boy’s mouth and allowed its length a wet slide into its interior. Having beat out the motion of his own organ by mere seconds, her ingress coincided with the sensation of Mlo’s tongue wriggling and squirming against her own. Its ardency was not as strong as hers, however. Whereas Milo’s youth denied him the ability to invade her mouth in kind, her tongue was both long enough and wide enough to slither into contact with the back of his throat.

This was where she wanted it. When the tip of her tongue bucked up against the region, she arched her skull to one side, then dipped it further inward to see her kiss made deeper still.

Just as her innards had predicted, this by itself was enough to quell the needy ‘itch’ planted within her stomach. All that she needed to do to ensure that it remained abated was swivel her skull, suckle to Milo’s tongue, and gulp down the saliva within his mouth as though it were water.

She did this and more—any less would have been a waste of ‘effort’. Holding the punishing pace of her wrists’ ministrations as they had been prior to her kiss, she actively responded to his aggression with tongue flicks and lip adjustments of her own.

Like this did the pair’s back and forth continue until all of the oxygen within Milo’s lungs was expended. ‘Cursed’ with an illogically childish handicap, his inability to hold his breath saw the boy peel his spittle soaked lips away from his sister’s nearly a minute after their kiss had started. Slow and sloppy, the ‘retreat’ that he managed elongated numerous dipped bridges of saliva between their mouths and left the orifices agape in a display of both breathlessness and need.

Fastest to the draw in the aftermath of this occasion was Milo.

“…Do you think your tits…are gonna be able to hold it all…?” he suggested, words thin but complete.

Now performing her pressurized pumping motions by way of reflex as opposed to intent, Milla dutifully responded to this suggestion after dipping her eyes down towards her breasts. The volume of precum pushed to pool at their peak each time she ‘hilted’ her makeshift-cunt along his member did not bode well for her success.

Witnessing this reality first hand did not seem to frustrate her. Glossy-eyed and panting, she met it as she had her little brother’s lips:

With acceptance.

“Probably not, but I…I stink of sex anyway so like…I’ll deal with it. I-I’ll just tell him I was working out or something.” she replied. “Or maybe…”

“Maybe I’ll tell him I’m still sick after all…”

Though high on a combination of endorphins and sexual pleasure, Milo had not yet forgotten the purpose of his sister’s tit-fucking session. If just barely, her utterances refocused his attentions where they ought to have been from the beginning: on his own pleasure.

“That’s probably the worst lie I’ve ever heard.” he chuckled. “After the message I sent, you’d give yourself away for sure.”

“Here…”

Reaching up towards Mila’s face with his left hand, Milo guiding the tips of his index, middle, and ring fingers against her lips.

“Open your mouth.”

No back talk came in response to this request. Apparently indifferent as to the boy’s intent, Milla spread her lips open and stuck out her tongue just slightly in mimicry of a much younger girl awaiting a treat.

Then in went Milo’s fingers.

All at once, he pressed the trio of digits into her mouth as a single conjoined plate. Pushed past the face of her tongue and the back of her throat, he swiftly delivered their tips into an uncomfortable curl down the older girl’s throat.

With this, he began to pump them. In sequence, rigorous inward curls from his wrist gored their lengths an inch or so deeper down her throat, and shorter (these being much smoother) outward flicks peeled them back up to their slightly-more-comfortable starting depths.

Initially, Milla was taken aback. Her gag reflex had been long-since deadened by the numerous facefuckings that she had received. Past this, the stabbing and squirming of fingers against her throat did not strike her as a logical ‘continuation’ to her brother’s response.

Until it did. Within 30 lengthy seconds of the *glk*-inducing metronome, Milo’s fingers found a spot within the beginnings of her throat that was very similar to several others within her esophagus.

This was a pleasure point. Hidden amidst the sex-acclimated meat of her throat, the consistent grind of Milo’s fingers across it eventually threaded a pleasurable contraction from this point all the way down into her stomach. In kind, her stomach responded by vaulting a fraction of the off-white reproductive glue squeezed into it the night before straight up the length of her esophagus.

Milo’s fingers slipped out of her mouth before she could even wretch. As if knowing the response that her frame would produce before it occurred, the same hand that had teased her throat jumped to the back of her head to tilt her skull downwards. Through this, her lips’ failure to purse and ‘hold’ the half-mouth full of semen welled within her mouth reaped no consequence. Instead of further soiling the bed space that surrounded them, all of the clotted semen was splattered straight down onto her bust.

Compositionally crossed between a translucent, jellied adhesive and sludge that barely resembled its biological composition, the digested mire applied a much more blatant form of nastiness to the interior (and exterior) of Milla's breast. In an instant, a pleated sheet of the substance was set on a slow, magma-like cascade across the buoyant 'front face' of her breasts. At the same time, copious amounts of it were pressed into an even more protracted descent into the confines of her 'tit-pussy'. If the makeshift orifice's interior had been gunked by sexual fluids before, it was now firmly caked—and perhaps even clogged with the substance.

Expectedly, Milo was visibly content with the slovenly turn of events. The sight of semen lazily bursting from her sisters throat and later serving as a 'fluid' to be blown into tiny bubbles at the edges of her nostrils were worth a smirk in and of themselves. Really, though, it was the addition of heat and sloppy moisture that began drizzling across his trapped erection that shifted the boy's mood for the better.

Finally, after minutes of enduring his sister's frustratingly tame efforts, conditions were set for Milla to give him a titjob more ‘deserving’ of his time.

Having accomplished this, the second 'bird' hit with the stone he had cast very nearly slipped his mind.

“There. Now you're an actual mess...” Milo stated, chuckling. “All we have to do now is make sure that guy sees you like this. No matter what you decide to do, he'll have to give you some time to clean up if you just happened to **spill a bunch of gelatin and cream all over yourself** **right before he showed up**, right?”

“He should be here in a few minutes, so a setup like that would work just fine. But, hey, I won't tell you what to do.”

Even whilst rattled by sexual stimulation and intoxicated by the semen freshly flushed into her nostrils, Milla remained capable of recognizing 'good ideas' when presented with them. Milo had not done so explicitly, but the boy's words constituted the perfect 'out' for the situation that he had forced her into. A certain amount of embarrassment and suggestive behavior would be required of her to make use of it, but in the moment, these seemed a very mild price to pay for satisfying her brother and 'maintaining' her relationship.

Milla told herself that the smile that curled its way across her semen-splattered lips was a product of the positive affect reaped from her salvation. She told herself this, and yet remained free from dissonance when the actions she produced after the fact contradicted it.

All at once, her slowed pillow-pumping of Milo's engorged shaft acquired additional energy and intent. The sandwiching of her palms against the sides of her breasts became a shameless 'hug' (full-wrap, both arms) of her soiled mounds around the entirety of their girth. Squeezing inward on both mounds as though her life depended on it, she forced the semen-greased crease set between them into its tightest and hottest configuration yet.

Then, she made use of it. In place of the glans-focused shuffle of her breasts, Milla began heaving the entirety of her breasts from the spire's base right to its tip. For the first time since Milo had taken to thrusting himself in and out of their embrace, every inch of her breasts' inner surface was dragged through a punishing compression against the exterior of his shaft—this without any complimentary motions from Milo.

At the peak of her ascent, Milla did not allow her mounds to simply fall back down across her brother's shaft. Utilizing the same semen-caked oppression that she had produced throughout her climb, she used her arms to intentionally squeeze the mass of her breasts right back down to a wet hilt with the youth's crotch.

Up until the completion of her first stroke, Milla was unsure as to how potent her changed pattern would be. Her desire to make her brother burst was what motivated the change in the first place, yet a form of possessive hunger remained the 'executive factor' in her hug-sustained strokes.

The first hilt of his shaft was enough to convince her that she had made the right choice. She could feel his cock throbbing in search of an orgasm. Through the regurgitated semen mushed across its exterior and the cloying heat exuded by her breasts, every bulbous vein that threaded and mounted across its exterior wriggled and squirmed in response to the contact she imposed with her breasts. This was not the sort of pulsing and squirming that it put out whilst in the midst of enjoying one of her holes. The urgency in them was different, as was their vehemence.

Then and there, Milla promised herself to remain steadfast. Milo could say whatever he wished on the subject, but she would not be fooled:

Now, her titjob was **anything** but boring for the youth.

Goal-line in sight, Milla hoisted her smushed breasts upwards just as she had before. As she went, she ignored (and invalidated) the glutted *PLRRRT♥* that rippled from the jizz-caked crevice between her breasts and spoke out in response to the boy's suggestion.

“T-That's true, I guess. You'll be able to shoot out all of that **chewy fucking slop** right between my tits, too. Don't think I don't know how much you're going to spew this time; if I can still feel everything you dumped out last night, whatever you've got now is going to be even worse.” she 'huffed'.

“I know—”

*CLOPP

“I'm the one—

*PLAT*

“Who suggested this—”

*SPLATTT*

“But if you had just told me how bad it was instead of being such an asshole, I would've let you fuck me or whatever, you know...”

Uncharacteristically dull, Milo took his sister's grievance in stride. Since the change she had applied to her ministrations, processing her responses had become much more difficult for him.

But this did not stop him from trying.

“What, and have to listen to you sob like a bitch about not wanting your relationship to get ruined?” Milo spat, sneering. “ ‘Oh, Milo, I’m your sister—you should look after me…’ do you even know how impossible it is to listen to that shit over and over again?”

Every word that the boy produced was subterfuge. Mimicking his sister’s voice was an impossible task for any male—prepubescent or otherwise. Even so, he had to try—try mocking her in the same way that she had him. If he didn’t, the mounting pressure within the base of his erection would lose out to the sludgy-tightness of his sister’s compressed breasts.

Thus far, he had survived by virtue of arrogance and force of will alone. When her efforts had been less…’effortful’, he needed only grit his teeth and ‘bear’ the sweaty softness of his sister’s breasts and an occasional sandwiching of their masses to the nervy-peak of his shaft. However pleasurable, the task remained well within his capacity to complete. Even at its best, Milla’s ‘tit-pussy’ paled in comparison to the cunt-juice-laden confines of her cunt or the congealed density of her intestines.

His decision to add regurgitated semen between them was one made for Milla. At the time, he had reasoned the decision out as means of making the latter portion of her efforts more enjoyable for himself. As combined with the affectionate hug that she mashed down onto her breasts—an act that produced a stacked ‘noosing’ of his erection by the breast flesh that surrounded them them—the gesture turned out to be the final nail in his coffin.

With this, the ascents and descents of Milla’s breasts became no different than the bisection of one of her holes. But, whereas the girth of his erection and the aggression of his thrusts into one of her actual holes may’ve displaced the discolored glue-snot she had puked out over time, her ‘tit-pussy’ surrendered nothing. Stroke by stroke, a controlled swamp of flesh and lubrication was mashed from the root of his erection to its tip. Every inch was submerged, and ardently smothered by what felt to him as a merciless attempt at siphoning his member for its seed.

It did not need the needy quivering of a womb, nor the languid contractions of an asshole. Sooner or later, this ‘siphon’ would have precisely what it desired regardless of the desires of those involved with it.

Faced with such inevitability, Milo could not help but default to what came naturally. Regrettably, he had not stopped to consider that his sister might have committed herself similarly.

“If you’re so tired of hearing it, why did you agree then? Huuuuuuh~?” Milla retorted.

“Because my stupid pig of a sister would’ve kept pouting about her own problems if I didn’t.”

“Right, sure. And it wasn’t because you’re such a baby that you can’t _stand_ the idea of making me sad, still? You fuck me like a useless whore, but you can’t even see me as one all the way? What a joke.”

“That’s cute coming from the fucking pedophile who walked around all day with the worst shit scribbled over her thighs. Even if I don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated, anyone else would. Except your boyfriend, I guess.”

“Whatever. Say you love me, or I’ll stop.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just shut the fuck up and do your job before that guy gets here.”

“Fine, then how about this?”

Leaning further forward, Milla set her lips just short of contact with Milo’s right ear. Plunging her breasts down to his crotch in time with the act, she began to whisper whilst holding his member at the very ‘core’ of her drooling hole.

Whatever words Milla chose caused her brother’s length to burst just as she finished whispering them. Glans coincidentally locked just short of a clean breach from the peak of her cleavage, the first strand of jellied goo to wriggle its way up the length of his cock erupted into containment within the stretch of ‘breast-sandwich’ just inches away from this point.

The happening itself was anything but clean. Behind a chilling *GLORP!* akin to a strenuous instance of swallowing or a sludge’s funneling into a congested hole, a low (and ultimately impotent) geyser of seed leapt upwards from the peak of Milla’s breasts. Dropping down into yet another flat splatter against the mounds, its release heralded the eruption of several other chugging and squelching noises from between Milla’s breasts.

These, however, were handled by Milla with motion. Drawing her breasts up off of Milo’s crotch and closer towards its tip, she brought the spurting tip of his erection to a firm impaction within the ‘core’ of her breast-made-masturbation toy. Like this, the ‘cause’ for the slovenly noises that poured from her breasts—this being a repeated ejaculation of dense and obscenely virile reproductive sludge into the mired crease between them—was denied the sordid overflow that ought to have come with it. Instead, the contents of Milo’s orgasm were progressively packaged within the same mess of flesh and fluid that had consumed his member in the first place.

Milla did not go to such lengths solely for the sake of her brother’s release. No matter how she complained about the subject and decried what it required of her, making her brother orgasm was always ridiculously satisfying for her.

Today, this was particularly true. Somehow, all of the urgency and arguing that had preceded Milo’s release made every shot of seed spewed into her breast orifice more impactful.

What Millia felt was in no way detached from this reality. Behind Milo's first strand of semen, similarly bulbous strands of the nutrient-riddled substance were vomited out into the core of her tit-pussy with far more 'force' than the norm.

This force was as much a product of the composition of Milo's seed as it was its delivery. Having benefited from a full night's worth of 'lingering' within his balls, an abnormal amount of sperm and nutrients were packed into each rope he produced. Strenuously squeezed up the length of his urethra like a molten semi-solid through a straw, their mass was delivered into Milla's growing semen-reservoir with backing better suited for a form of hydraulic syringe or piston.

Time and time again, half-length shoelaces of the hole-clogging gunk were splattered against one another with only the glutted noise of their 'compaction' as proof of the fact. Throughout, a part of Milla imagined the flesh of her breasts being smothered and displaced by the weight of the semen smushed between them. The thought was swiftly discarded in favor of further focus on the squirming heat between her breasts—as it ought've been.

Nevertheless, this did not stop her from thinking on exactly what was happening between her breasts.

“He's shooting out so much...(h). I knew he was full of shit—he needed this way more than he said.” she thought. “Everything between my tits feels totally filled up (h). I don't know how anything else is even gonna...”

As if brought on by the thought itself, the first sensation of 'discharge' from between her breasts struck Milla during its appearance. Filled to the brim, the continued expulsion of semen between her breasts saw a considerable amount of 'excess' pushed up into a haggard geyser from the peak of her breasts. Undiluted for its sandwiching between her breasts, it contents flopped out over the peak of her mounds moments prior to the ejection of several others.

Appropriately, these spurts began petering out in time with the cessation of Milo's orgasm. The final few *PLORPS* that echoed out from between her mounds came with no consequence; only a breathy exhalation from Milo and a silent spread of his jizz-plaster atop her breasts.

Pleased with the results of her effort, Milla released her breasts from the hug she had folded around them. This done, she dipped her upper body backwards to allow the ‘seeded’ mounds their usual obese sloping atop her chest.

Impressively, hardly any of her brother’s reproductive baby-resin spilled from between the mounds after the fact. Instead, outflow of the substance was limited to a honey-like ooze from her bust’s face and underside. In this sense, she hadn’t ‘lost’ any of the cum pressed between her tits—just as her brother had requested.

Milla recognized this, and made the most of it.

  
“There. C-Can I go now, or what?” she muttered, eyes endearingly slanted away from her younger brother’s face.

Milo was no less aware of his situation for the pleasure that throbbed through his now-exposed member. Time was of the essence for Milla, and though a bothersome longing had taken root within the pit of his stomach, he had already promised his sister that he wouldn’t hold her further.

Still, he hesitated. He parted his lips to speak, but no words left them.

In this time, the house spoke for him.

***DING-DONG***

For a pair of seconds, the sound of a programmed doorbell chime from the first floor slithered into a faint echo within the bedroom.

Thusly, Milo’s response was selected for him.

“Yeah, whatever.” speaking much more like himself, the boy slipped off of his sister’s lap and back onto his feet. “I’m going back to bed. Have fun not fucking this up.”

With this utterance, he began on a stride out of the bedroom entirely. Partway through it, though, a weight against his cheek rendered him flat-footed.

The weight of his sister’s lips.

“Whatever yourself, faggot. I’ll see you when I get home….”

“And thank you for being nice to me ♥.”

Milo dared not respond to the words whispered into his ears. Were he to try, his sister’s afternoon with her boyfriend would never be allowed to begin…


	2. Niggas Tryna Tell Me Milo's Dad Ain't Stack Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milla and Milo continued to have the kind of wholesome fun you'd expect from two wildly aged gaped siblings. Some details as to how they function are expanded upon, and Milla's throat and cunt are fucked to a point of slurry nastiness in differing and destructive/strenuous positions.
> 
> Oh yeah, Milla's boyfriend's name is Neil.

** _THE PAST I_ **

_A final sift through the pockets of his slacks and an affirmative flattening of his dress-shirt collar prompted Grigor to turn away from the doorway ahead of him and back towards the lobby space that led into the rest of his home. _

_  
As he did so, the two most important women within his life completed a descent into the lobby from the staircase at its backmost corner. Wife outfitted in an expensive sundress appropriate for the trip that lay ahead of them and daughter dressed with her usual disregard for her gifted figure, the smiles on their faces and the readiness in their postures suggested that the preparations they had busied themselves with on the second floor had been completed successfully._

_Relieving as this was to see given the hour, he derived no real solace from the sight. Nothing remained for him to fret over or rectify, yet even now, a cloying reluctance remained bundled up within his chest._

_Firm in his intent to keep these feelings from worrying his family, he did not utter a word of this discomfort to the woman ahead of him. Instead, in a vain attempt at quelling the inexplicable sensation, he did what could be expected of any other father in a similarly worrisome position._

_He doted._

_“Now, Millanera, you’re sure you don’t mind looking after little Milos while we’re gone?” started Grigor. Whereas the contents of his question suggested concern for his son, the tone in which he posed it framed his daughter as the individual he was most concerned about. “I know you’re used to doing it—I mean, it’s thanks to you that we never had to look into getting a long-term babysitter for him up until now.”_

_“Still, you’ve only been back for a few months now. As happy as we are to have you living here again while you’re in school, you’re still a young woman yourself. You shouldn’t have to spend so much of your summer with your little brother just for our convenience. ”_

_Grigor knew what his daughter’s most likely response to his suggestion would be. He had asked her this question countless times prior to countless other trips, yet over the years, her opinion had went unchanged. _

_Perhaps this was what worried him—that nothing, not even the growing disparity in their ages, could push his daughter away from his son. If illogical, it was at least an explanation. A ‘something’ to oppose the ‘nothing’ that grated on his conscience._

_Nevertheless, Milla responded as she pleased. A shake of the bed-headed young woman’s head (one that just so happened to include a gratuitous swaying of her t-shirt encapsulated breasts) saw her produce a derisive giggle, and afterwards speak out exactly as he had expected her to._

_“C’mon, Dad. We’ve been over this, like, 7 times. My being older now is no excuse for me to let a stranger look after my little brother.” she replied. “If I’m living here, which I am, the least I can do is watch out for him with some of my free time. I know he’s still not old enough to be by himself, but he’s really easy to deal with compared to most kids.”_

_“Mom thinks so, too. I mean, don’t you?”_

_A gesture from the young woman toward her mother reaped a similarly ‘expected’ response from her ageless counterpart. After pecking the slightest of kisses to her husband’s cheek, (fname) shook her head and motioned towards the door behind them._

_ “She’s right, Grigor. Milos won’t make any more trouble for her than he would for us. If anything, he’ll make less—you know how much he loves his sister.” she added. “Instead of worrying about it, let’s just be thankful that things are the way they are, hm? It’s not every family that has children who get along so well, right?”_

_Grigor could only shake his head. He knew that he was blessed, and had no reason to believe otherwise. _

_Yet he wanted to. His intuition told him to._

_Shrugging nevertheless, a weak smile soon bloomed across his lips._

_“I just can’t win with you two, huh?” he chuckled. “Alright, alright; I’ll stop my bellyaching. Just remember that we’re only a call or a message away. You two mean the world to your mother and I, so whatever help you need, you ask for it, understand?”_

_Rolling her eyes with a smile, Milla very nearly shrugged off his offer._

_“I know dad, I know. I have all of your contact info, but I promise: nothing will go wrong. Now, you and Mom should get going. You don’t want to miss your flight, right?”_

_Suddenly, Grigor found himself with no further time to question (or confirm) the feelings within his chest. His daughter had begun jovially hurrying him along in a manner too endearing for him to resist. His wife followed suit—an expected happening given she had taught the girl in the first place—and before long, he found himself striding towards a car parked in wait at the end of his driveway._

_For each step he took, chunks of the worry that had nagged at him were pushed further and further out of their holing within his chest._

_The speed at which it dissipated urged him to turn and address his daughter one final time. However, a moment’s thought on the subject convinced him to forgo this. The last expression he had seen on her face, a congenial and familiar smile, argued that doing so was unnecessary._

_Hers was the smile of a sister that loved her brother—of a daughter that loved her parents. No matter the feelings that dogged him, such a smile was to be cherished, not scrutinized._

_Even at the expense of his better judgement._

-

**8 HOURS AFTER MILLA’S DEPARTURE—MILLA’S AND MILO’S HOME**

A single step back into the familiar darkness of her home filled Milla with excitement. Not fatigue from the day she had spent keeping up the ‘appearance’ of a ‘loving if reclusive’ girlfriend, not frustration at the cloying weight of semen between her breasts, but excitement.

She had succeeded. Her little brother had set her up for near-certain failure, yet she had gotten through an entire half-day with her boyfriend without him so much as raising an eyebrow at her. Some lies and ‘distractions’ had been required on her part, but in the end, no questions were posed as to the state of her body when first he arrived at the house, and no concerns came from him when she cutely refused intimacy with him prior to returning.

Now, all that remained was the ‘fun’ part: Rubbing her accomplishment (i.e presenting her success) into Milo’s face. To her, excitement at this juncture was natural…even if the shame and remorse she ought’ve felt was deferred as a result.

Privy to her position, Milla’s stewing on it soon pasted a smirk across her face.

“Maybe there really is something wrong with me?” she thought aloud. “I should probably feel worse about what a gross, fucked up day I’ve had, but I don’t. It’s obviously his fault, but still. Being this way is really unnatural…”

The ‘matter-of-fact’ indifference that dominated her face and tone as she spoke were telling, but ultimately short-lived. When next she spoke, both were replaced by a playful exasperation.

“But I guess it’s fine if it doesn’t bother him...”

Apparently unaffected by the sobering thoughts she had uttered, Milla’s excitement carried her from the darkness of the lobby back up to the lit confines of the second floor at an unusually smooth pace. As she walked, she peeled the straps of her purse from off of her right shoulder and wormed her upper body out of the massive, and yet somehow still tightly fitting hoodie she had worn out for the day. Underneath it was a white t-shirt soaked to a patchy transparency with sweat and caked at its front and midsection with the seed that had been squirted between her breasts hours prior. This being the only proof of the day that she had suffered, Milla left this garment clinging to her torso as she walked.

After undressing, her appearance throughout her stride became that of an adult woman basking in the affect of some physical accomplishment. She did not recognize how much she was glowing, but the fact remained that she seemed more satisfied now than she had at any other point throughout the day.

Upon arrival at her destination, this ‘adult’ pride became decidedly juvenile. Whereas she _could_ have barged into Milo’s room as a woman incensed by humiliation and intent on revenge, her first step through the door presented a young woman all too-pleased with herself. Hands at her hips, lips dragged to a smirk, and bust pridefully puffed outwards, mistaking her entrance for anything other than a physical realization of the phrase “How’s that?” was impossible.

Unless, of course, one happened to be a boy by the name of Milo.

Since his sister’s departure nearly half a day prior, Milo had spent all of his time between his favorite rectangular game console from Japan and the innumerable forms of ‘entertainment’ accessible to anyone with a laptop and a working internet connection. As both of these activities could be done from positions of complete comfort, Milla’s entrance found him laid out across his bed console in hand. Consequentially, several seconds were required for the youth register that someone had entered his room, and that this someone was his older sister.

When he did, his reaction to the sight of her was almost excessively tepid.

“Is that supposed to be cool or something? The fact that you’re sweaty and still haven’t showered?” he asked, eyes briefly glancing at Milla before returning to the screen above his face. “I thought the first thing you’d do when you got back was wash it off. I guess you really were just pretending that you didn’t like walking around stained with cock juice.”

With the boy’s utterance went Milla’s pride with herself. Suddenly rendered more bashful, she straightened her back and exchanged her smirk for a pout partway between embarrassment and frustration.

“Of course; he doesn’t give a shit…” Milla muttered.

In his preoccupation with his game, Milo heard his sister’s retort as an unintelligible grumble. Nevertheless aware of the fact that he might’ve missed something, he again broke eye-contact with the screen to glare at her.

“What? You’re hard enough to understand with jizz in your mouth, so could you at least try to talk right when you don’t?”

Unwilling to endure the discomfort of repeating herself, Milla swiftly adopted a pricklier attitude in the face of her brother’s indifference. Pushing his door closed behind her, she then embarked on a lazy stride from the mouth of his bedroom up to his bedside.

“Nothing, stupid. The only reason I’m in here is to show you I held up my end of the bargain so you don’t fuck me over again later.” Milla retorted.

To emphasize her point, she shut both of her eyes and pushed her left hand in towards the hem of her t-shirt. Situated at the beginnings of her obscene hip-line, she pinched a fraction of it between her thumb and index finger, then dragged the garment’s lower half up and over the protruding swell of her breasts. Essentially peeling the soaked fabric across the succulent, stupidly oversized udders, she halted its ascent at a point just high enough for the semen-stuffed mounds underneath it to flop down into a wet *CLOPP* against the sweat-moistened softness of her abdominals. With this, the thus-far-stifled ooze of chunked cock juice from their underside began anew, as did their projection of an aroma indistinguishable as the mixed scents of semen, cock, and sweat.

Completely numb to the idea of being naked around her brother, Milla went unaffected both during and after the exposure of her breasts. If the expression on her face was any indication, her ‘comfort’ with flashing the boy was likely on par with her comfort with breathing.

“There; happy? I went the whole day without getting myself caught, no thanks to you.” she huffed. “I already know you don’t care, but for your information, I had a great time out with Neil as well.”

It was at this point that Milo’s feigned disinterest in his sister’s presence crumbled. The happening was very apparent as well—provided one was paying attention and did not have their eyes closed in a display of arrogance.

Despite contriving a near-impossible trial for her (and subsequently creating conditions that might allow her to overcome it), Milo had spent most of his time alone wondering whether or not she’d be able to manage it. His sister was certainly a competent actress—this evident in the ease with which she projected the qualities of a loving girlfriend and dependable sister to the world at large—but the mussing of her features by sex and the smearing of her flesh with the stench of it were not qualities that could be ‘acted’ into non-existence.

Not without help, anyway.

Thus, when her breasts flopped out from under her t-shirt in the same rankly creampied state that she had bundled them into hours prior, a certain amount of relief (and far more perverse wonder) wormed their way to the forefront of his features. Had Milla bothered to predict their appearances, she would even have seen his head turn towards her the moment that the sweaty undersides of her breasts clapped down against her stomach.

Of course, she didn’t.

“You have a weird way of having fun, then.” some seconds after Milla’s declaration, Milo worked his stunned features back to a semblance of their original state. Despite this, his posture remained slanted towards her, and his face tiled upwards so as to stare at hers. “I don’t think normal people have fun sweating into a hoodie while jizz leaks between their tits. Or wait, are you saying that you enjoy it specifically ‘cause you’re a fat-breasted pedophile?

Milla did not bite a second time.

“#1. Stop calling me a pedophile: it’s rude and you’re going to fuck up and do it in public one day. #2. If I’m abnormal, you’re just as bad. You’re the one who made me do all of this, remember dipshit?”

“If that’s what you are, which it is, what’s the point of calling you something else?” Milo retorted, flatly. “You’re right about the rest of it, but at least I have a shot at growing out of this and not being a degenerate my whole life like you.”

“Fucking god, Milo…the **point** is that regardless of what I am, I’m still the one who you’re using to get off at the end of the day. We don’t have to go over why I’m doing that again. The fact is, you’d probably get to blow way more loads way more often if you weren’t such a little piece of shit to me all the time.”

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with why I should care what my kid-fucking bitch of a sister thinks about anything, Milla.”

“Wow, I guess my little brother is retarded then. Life really has a way of hitting a girl where it hurts, huh?”

Up until this point, Milla had carefully doctored her responses so as to keep her discourse with her brother progressive (if bumpy and abrasive). Her decision to abruptly insult the youth was one made in part to respond to the one he had spat at her, and in part in adherence to what she intended to do following her inevitable failure to converse with the boy.

Straight after uttering her insult, she took a page from her brother’s book and dumped her frame onto the bed-space at his side. Larger and longer than him by a wide margin, her doing so consumed a great deal of the mattress’ overall surface area, and effectively forced its owner to firmly split his attention between the game that he was playing and the person that was laying next to him.

She did not stop here. Knowing precisely how Milo would react to the event, she turned onto her side, and outstretched her hands towards his upper body. First bracing a single palm to each of his shoulders, she afterwards forced him up onto his side such that his chest was made to face her own. Behind this, she snaked her left hand around his neck to press inward against his upper back whilst sensually trailing her right across his midsection, then down through an invasive plunge underneath the hem of his track pants.

Executed in perfect sequence, these acts were devoid of any sort of ‘gap’ that their pint-sized target might utilize to squirm or protest. By the time Milo recognized that they occurred, his chest had been pressed against his sister’s sweaty breasts, and his face had been braced against the feminine litheness of her collar: all whilst a hand shamelessly stroked and tugged at the semi-erect cock growing at his crotch.

Being a sore loser by nature, Milo’s first thought in his new position concerned further ridicule for his sister.

A thought incomplete, and ultimately unrealized.

“Since it looks like I have to spell it out for you again, you should care because the more you do is the more often I’ll let you fuck me like the braindead animal you think I am. You can force me with shit like what you pulled this morning, but it’s not gonna make me want you any more, dipshit.” Milla retorted. “Don’t pretend like you don’t like it better this way, either. As much of a piece of shit as you are, you’re still _my _piece of shit…”

“And I know you best.”

Made to choose between arguing against the truth and accepting it however he wished, Milo selected the latter…but not without first producing a telling frown perfect for a defeated younger sibling.

“That’s so motivating. It almost makes me want to forget the fact that you still stink of getting fucked.”

“Your fault, not mine. Do you want your hug or not?”

“I’m not 4; I don’t sit around all day waiting for hugs, you stupid bitch.”

“Awh, someone’s cranky, aren’t they? That’s such a shame—I’m too much of a _stupid bitch_ to understand what that means. I guess I’ll just have to keep laying here since I don’t know any better…”

If briefly, Milla’s words made Milo feel as though he had trapped himself in a plight of his own making. Making Milla release him was no more complex a matter than opening his mouth and demanding it. However, this was not what he wanted. Mushed up against her moist softness and forced to breath in the same sweet, feminine stench that had become the norm for him, pushing himself away from her was the furthest thing from his mind.

Regrettably, the same was true of what he actually wanted. Likely as a result of pride and an uncomfortably pleasant frustration, his mind was devoid of thoughts detailing an ‘alternative circumstance’ for him to indulge in.

Per usual, indecision on his part became opportunity for his sister. In the split second that he could have used to actually do something, Milla dipped her skull downwards to set her lips just above his ear.

“But you’re proud of me, aren’t you?” she whispered, sweetly. “You’re happy I came back without getting myself into trouble, but you’re happier than I went out with my boyfriend with your dick juice squirming around between my tits ♥.”

“Aren’t you?”

Suddenly, Milo surged. Vigorously wriggling out of his older sister’s grasp, he plunged his dominant hand down into an aggressive tugging and wrenching at the waistline of his pants until both his cock and thighs were free from their grasp. Continuing the process even after the fact, his single-handed efforts continued until the garment was situated low enough for him to peel it off his ankles one leg at a time.

Next, he moved. Free from his sister’s grasp, he pushed himself into a thigh-parted straddle of her upper body, then turned his frame around such that the underside of his cock was allowed to extend across Milla’s face towards her breasts, and his line sight was situated to capture her frame from her abdominals downward.

Curiously, his arrival at this position coincided with Milla engaging in a similarly spirited downward peel of her leggings.

Despite watching it progress from beginning to end, Milo refrained from commenting on the happening, and instead spoke out to validate his own position.

As per usual, the placidity of his words betrayed the vehemence of their content.

“For someone whose breath constantly reeks of dick, you really talk way too fucking much…” he grumbled, eyes now centered on the syrup-soaked and lightly-haired expanse of his sister’s crotch. “I didn’t ask for you to come in here and start wagging your tail like a bitch looking for a treat, but as long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful…”

Despite his not mentioning ‘how’ his sister might accomplish ‘usefulness’, Milo felt that the position he had set himself into would make his meaning unambiguous. Only so many things could be done with the musk-drenched girth of his cock’s underside pouring heat down onto her face and the semen-packed bloat of his balls hanging over her forehead.

Still, his efforts proved insufficient. Rather, they were _made_ insufficient. Though entirely aware of what it was her brother wanted, Milla spoke out against his crotch as though every breath that she took was not inundated with the cunt-drenching stench of her baby brother’s freshly gestated nut.

“Awh, look, he’s throwing a temper-tantrum ♥. Leave it to my little brother to not be able to actually tell anyone what he wants. I guess he’ll figure it out when he’s older—assuming he’s able to get anything that doesn’t involve fucking me into that head of his.” she teased, voice muffled but audible.

To counterbalance the condescension in her tone and ensure that she complied with her brother’s request (if only in part), Milla slid both of her hands up into an affectionate bracing of the outer face of Milo’s thighs as she spoke. This done by way of reflex, she simultaneously spread her legs apart from one another to better present her drooling mound, and provide the youth ‘insight’ as to what it was she was actually feeling.

Then came the icing on the verbal cake that she had baked.

“Sorry, Milo—I’m a retarded pig, remember? I can’t do anything on my own—not even make myself useful.” she teased, gleeful malice drenching her tone. “Since _apparently_ I’m not good enough for praise, I’m just gonna go ahead and lay here. You can do whatever you want, but I’m not doing shit with a brat like y-**GLLLRP**~!”

There was only so much that Milo could stand. The knowledge that he was acting into his sister’s hand kept his actions measured for a time, but eventually, the sound of her voice and the topics that she spoke on spurred him into action. Swinging his hips backwards along a curve shaped to match the retreat of a pendulum, he instinctively reeled his crotch—and by proxy, his erection—up to a daunting position behind Milla’s lips. Then, without remorse or interest in her wellbeing, he stabbed his crotch inward in adherence to this ‘perfect angle’, and in doing so plunged the unwashed bulk of his glans straight between her lips. Anger and vehemence backing its entry, nearly half of the sweat-greased loaf was delivered through her throat and into the sticky clamor of her esophagus with this thrust alone.

As always, the sensation of mucus-glazed gullet flesh squeezing down against his cockmeat saw the boy’s frame complete the rest of the required ‘work’ on his behalf. After spreading Milla’s lips with the initial inches of his shaft’s girth, his hips reflexively produced one ruthless crotch flog after another to see the remaining fractions of his cock messily slotted behind Milla’s lips. For each one, a guttural *GLRSH* unmistakable as a phallus’ depression into some sodden, drooling hole sounded out from her neck, and a minor surge of throatslop displaced from her esophagus burbled up from both her nostrils and the corners of her lips.

When finally no further inches of his cock remained outside her face-cunt’s slimy embrace, Milo took full advantage of his new position. First setting his left foot flat against his mattress surface, he then slid it ahead of the plant of his right knee on the opposite side of Milla’s waist, and leveraged the angle created to begin delivering heavy, short-length thrusts of his cock in and out of his sister’s esophagus.

More so than the pleasure of having her abnormally thick and ooze-prone esophagus lining play the part of a masturbation toy for his member, Milo derived an obscene amount of pleasure from the act itself (as opposed to its consequent).

More often than not, his crotch was firmly smothered against the lower half of her face, and his balls were swung in and out of suffocating, slop-softened contact with the exterior of her nose. In mere seconds, he had reduced his sister from her condescension to gurgling incoherently as he used her mouth—her entire face as an onahole. Even if it were not the case that his embarrassment had driven him to do so, the satisfaction that the act offered was likely to have driven him to it anyway.

As a direct result of this satisfaction, a sneer spread across his lips, and venomous comments all his own began jumping off his tongue one after another.

“There, even a stupid cunt like you should be able to figure out something like this, right?” he suggested. “This is the first useful thing you’ve done since you showed up at the door and you’re spewing mucus all over yourself. Seems about right for bitch with pubes pasted to her breasts, huh?”

Milo knew that his sister was not in a position to respond to his comments. This did not make his utterance any less satisfying to produce, nor did the knowledge inspire complacency in his ministrations. If anything, speaking out drove him to further brutality. Afterwards, the rapid flick-stabbing of his erection became something resembling traditional penetration. Ever aware that the result would be an experience as messy as it was torturous, Milo took to reeling several inches of his shaft from the clogged depths of Milla’s esophagus at an intentionally sluggish pace, then mercilessly goring these slop-smeared inches back downwards until his crotch was delivered into another went *PLATT* against her face.

For as uncomfortable and unsightly as her position had become, Milla remained functional when hit by the brunt of her brother’s ‘tantrum’. To a point, she had predicted efforts along these lines the moment she had started taunting him. Her embrace, her responses—all of these things were tailored specially to rile Milo up into giving her some sort of reward for her daylong effort.

So far as she was concerned, she was now receiving that reward. Second by second, the slab of reeking, vascular boy-cock that she adored milking was dug into, then wrenched out from her mouth and esophagus.

Initially, the anger that had fueled her brother’s thrusts had seen some part of her esophagus’ enflamed bulk spread around its rugged exterior. The wriggling of its veins flooded her warped innards with a pleasure strong enough to make her womanhood gush, and the thunderous throbbing of its trunk reminded her that, if nothing else, her brother remained exceptionally weak to the pleasures offered by her holes. When the pattern of his thrusts shifted and hateful comments began leaving his lips, she acquired yet more pleasure from the knowledge that she had gotten to the youth.

Given that she had, the statement that she had whispered into his ear had to be correct.

Milo was happy—he was just incapable of admitting as much to her face.

Like her brother, it was this—a perverse conclusion that she had come to regarding her sibling—that she enjoyed most. The warm high of oxygen-deprivation intensified for each wet plugging of her nostrils with his crotch was good, and the pressurized streaking of precum and throat-mucus across her face and into her eyes was better, but nothing could compare to the knowledge that Milo remained the same sister-loving little boy that she had helped raise.

Predictably, the happiness that she felt translated out into happy thoughts very early on into her brother’s commandeering of her face.

“That’s all it takes to make you fuck my face like this? You’re such a little baby Milo, I swear ♥.” she thought to herself, eyes smiling even as their whites were irritated by the murky mire fucked from the back of her throat. “You’re probably pretty fucking proud of yourself, but you’d better not be getting any funny ideas about this into your head. I-I’m letting you see what this is doing to my cunt because you need to stop being such a little asshole and just help me feel good sometimes. I-It’s not because I wanna make any of the stupid names you call me legitimate…”

“R-Right?”

Though very much against her brother strong-arming her into sex, Milla enjoyed the way he made use of her frame almost more than he did. Saying as much to the boy’s face while he insulted her stature and intelligence had become a much more trying activity for her than it had been in the past, this coming as a direct result of his growth from an impressionable child to a sullen pre-adolescent. Thusly, the only place that she could speak to the youth honestly was within the safety of her own mind.

The fact that his cock, crotch, and hips had denied her the use of her mouth in this instance was purely a coincidence.

“S-Seriously, though, are you just going to keep staring at it like this? I know you’re an entitled piece of s-shit, but come on. It’s g-going to take me forever to cum if you don’t at least touch it. You know how to use your fingers, s-so why won’t you…”

Deep down, Milla was greedy. Milo’s curved thrusts swelled her neck with a strenuous, flesh-warming pleasure and aggravated the depths of her esophagus as though its innards were the same as her cunt’s. Yet she wanted more. From where he was currently, Milo was perfectly situated to squeeze several of his fingers into the honeyed depths of her cunt. Were he to do so, the combined stimulation plugged into her orifices would see orgasm after debilitating orgasm funneled up her spine and into her brain. It was not lost on the young woman that her brother had no reason to care about her pleasure in his current state, but then and there, her libido argued otherwise. So far as it was concerned, she had already earned this much stimulation and more.

Yet Milo refused to budge.

“What do I have to do? What do I have to do for you to gut my fucking throat and stir up my cunt until I squirt all over myself?”

“J-Just fucking say something so I can—?”

With time, the consistency of Milo’s thrusts (as combined with her repressed need for more) amplified the skin-straining bliss funneled into her esophagus’ pleasure receptors to the point of overstimulation. Her tolerance for Milo’s cock, though impressive, was not a quality that she could project indefinitely. If, for example, she were to have just under a cock sized as his was skewered through her lips into a savage parting of her ‘facecunt’s’ inner walls with enough aggression to have hooked bulges swelled at the surface of her neck (as was the case now), her frame’s only option in the face of such brutality would be submission.

Thrust by gullet-wrenching thrust was Milla worked towards this submission until something stopped her progression dead in its tracks.

It was not a sudden shift from Milo, nor the sound of one of their parents in the midst of a worrying stride up to Milo’s bedroom door.

It was merely a ringtone; a cute and melodic jingle she had decided to associate with her boyfriend’s cellphone number.

Suddenly, Milla found herself surging just as her brother had. Sliding both of her palms into a flat press against his stomach, she urged the youth out of his thrusting position above her with as much ‘gentle force’ as she could muster. Succeeding in the act only after an aggravated sigh left Milo’s lips, a fit of slop-sodden spluttering overtook her the moment that the final inch of his cock was dragged out of her esophagus (this coming after a sizeable dollop of regurgitated throatslop burbled from out of her cock-spread lips and onto her face).

Slowed by neither, Milla sat upright, and immediately began looking for her phone.

“I h-ave to pick up—Milo, are you glaying on it or somephing?” she asked, voice congested by the bedlam of sludge left within her throat and sinuses.

“…How would I be able to lay on something I haven’t touched in hours?” Milo replied, angrily. “Did you even bother to think it might still be in one of your pockets?”

Made to focus in on the jingle’s muffled quality, Milla hurriedly turned her frame to peer over the left side of Milo’s bed. Discarded atop the floor space below it was not only her hoodie, but also the source from which the jingle sounded out.

For a split second, all she could do was stare at it.

“If you’re not going to answer it, lay back down and open your mouth. Otherwise, just leave so I can do something else.” 

“God, stop fucking pouting. Aren’t you the one who always tells me I should deal with this better? I’ll be finished in a minute or two; I’m sure you can wait that long.”

Briskly fishing her phone from out of her hoodie after flashing a scowl at her brother (one made far less effective by the descent of mucus from her nostrils and the pinkness of her eyes), Milla cleared her throat, and raised the device up to a plant against her right cheek.

After a short breath and a tap from her thumb, words much less congested than those she had produced seconds prior began leaving her throat in sequence.

“Hey, Neil. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon.” she began, tone as much excited as natural. “What’s the matter? Aww, do you miss me already?”

At the sound of Milla’s voice, a crippling nausea consumed Milo’s stomach. Why it had appeared was beyond his comprehension—as were a great many of the other feelings that his sister induced in him. Despite this, his body responded to it both cleanly and concisely. Throughout its duration, he forgot his arousal, and found himself entirely focused on his sister’s manipulation of the boy she spent some of her free time with.

Given the throatslop and precum clogging her throat, the effectiveness with which she managed this was impressive.

“Pretty much, yeah.” though barely audible, Neil’s voice could be heard emanating out from the speaker of Milla’s phone. “I just wanted to call and make sure you got to bed alright. You seemed like you might’ve had a fever while we were out—are you feeling sick or anything?”

Closing her eyes in a display of contentment oft produced by young women speaking on the phone with their lovers, Milla curled her lips into a smile, and shook her head despite knowing that Neil could not see her do so.

“Uh-uh. I’m just fine. Just a little sleepy from all of the fun we had, I guess.”

“Is that why you sound so congested? C’mon, I’m not a total pushover, Milla.”

“T-That’s nothing. Y-You know I get allergies during the summer! Milo probably just opened a window or something and forgot to close it.”

“Haha, I don’t blame him. It was pretty hot today—but apparently not enough to stop you from wearing a hoodie.”

“You say that, but I didn’t hear any complaints when you were staring at how cute it made me ♥.”

“…You really don’t miss anything, huh?”

“Only the stuff you don’t tell me. Everything else about you and the stuff you do wa…h-h w-wait…w-was handed over in my “Good Girlfriend” manual…”

For a time, Milla strung her boyfriend along uninterrupted. Even with her face and throat as they were, doing so was second nature for her. The persona that she adopted whilst interacting with him—one of an even-tempered and cutely natured young woman not unlike the one that she used for her daily life—was so well ‘understood’ by her psyche that presenting it was no longer effortful for her. So long as she started well, her experience was typically enough to carry her through any and all of her conversations with Neil.

Were it not for an interjection from Milo, her latest would have been no different. Part way through another display of endearing cuteness, Milo moved from his position at her side to one at her front. Indifferent to her ‘act in progress’, he pressed his hands inwards towards her frame and smothered the sensitive padding glued to the curvature of her hips with his palms.

Even through her clothing, the weight of that they pressed against the sensitive tissue forced a breathy stutter from the back of her throat. What he wanted was obvious—she had been used by the boy far too many times to not recognize his intent. Even so, the time and place he had selected flustered her. More and more, it seemed as though he was exerting control over her when it inconvenienced her the most.

In a display of defiance, Milla closed her ears to her boyfriend’s rambling and focused her attentions back onto Milo. Reaching forward with her freehand, she pushed back against his t-shirt clad shoulder as if to reject him.

For this, she received her most stern punishment yet.

“…Yeah, but anyway, it was fun. I’ll let you get to sleep. Tell Milo I said hi though, alright? I’ll make sure I apologize for borrowing you so often next time I see hi—“

“HIIIYUGGH ♥ ♥??”

“Woah, Milla? Are you okay?”

In the time that Milla had spent ruminating about her plight and defiantly pushing at her brother’s ingress, her hips and legs had complied with his unspoken demands. Her hips adopted an obedient stagnation in response to his touch, and when the time came, her legs spread away from one another and rose in unison.

Vindictive as ever, Milo took full advantage of her body’s split intent. After Milla’s aggressive shove against his shoulder, he raised his left hand up to parity with the exposed pudge of sister’s hair-dusted cunt. In an instant, he rotated his wrist to expose his palm, sandwiched his index, ring, and middle fingers against one another, and gored the conjoined digits into the honeyed embrace of her womanhood down to the knuckle.

Once hilted, he made matters worse for Milla. A second rotation of his wrist drew the undersides of his fingers out of contact with congealed bloat of her canal’s roof and into a clockwise ‘trudge’ against the clamoring of her depths.

It was during this rotation that Milla began to squeal. A response such as this was to be expected given her sensitivity, but in the moment, the pleasure Milo derived from it was inane. A grin spread across his lips from ear to ear, and the slightest of chuckles rippled from between his lips.

The satisfaction that washed over the boy failed to tempt him into forgetting himself...

At least not entirely. Though poised to stir and pump his digits within Milla’s folds until she squirted all over herself, he abandoned the depression of his fingers after a single rotation.

In the present, there were more important things for him to do—namely reminding his sister of the consequences of taking too long.

Milla failed to do anything about Milo’s actions until his syrup-drenched digits were extracted from her cunt. Behind the gooey *PLORP ♥* that signaled their exit, the stimulation that had tied her tongue and crossed her eyes disappeared.

She was a person again. An incestual degenerate quivering with lust, but also a young woman with agency.

Then and there, she recognized that she needed to act.

“O-Oh, sorry, Neil. M-Maybe I am getting sick. S-Something felt like it got caught in my t-throat for a second there.” she stammered, voice audibly more ‘stressed’ than it had been seconds prior. “W-What were you saying, t-though? Y-You were going to say goodbye, r-right?”

Whereas the words she spoke projected a shaky composure, those that rang out within her mind were far more desperate in nature.

“Please, god, just fucking hang up the phone. I-I’m begging you, I can’t keep talking for much longer. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me next, but whatever it is, it’s only going to hurt you.”

“D-Don’t be so fucking stupid. Just t-think. Think about how much you like me and how much you want to keep liking me. D-Don’t ruin this for yourself. Don’tDon’tDon’tDon’tDont—“

Amidst her internal stammering, a voice that was not her own slithered into her mind. Though thinned to a whisper and carried by a warm breath funneled against her left ear, its qualities were unmistakable.

This was the only voice to which she always had to adhere.

“Lift up your legs and spread them further apart.” the voice whispered, callous disinterest smothering its every word. “I don’t care if you want to keep talking, but you’re not going to waste any more of my time with this. If you don’t want him to hear you get fucked like the desperate pig you are, you should probably hang up.”

“Or are you too stupid for that, too?”

Few if any of the feelings that her little brother incited within her owned the impact required to stymie Milla’s temper once flared. Pleasure, fear, disappointment; all of these things lacked a certain ‘necessity’ required for her mind to prioritize curtailing itself over expression.

Welled within the core of her mind by the words breathed into her ear was the sole feeling to which this rule did not apply:

The intangible and irresistible ‘need’ of femininity.

“O-Oh, alright. I mean, as long as you’re fine. Sorry—I must sound like I’m 35 or some shit…”

While Neil produced these words, Milla hiked the spread of her legs up to an angle so obtuse that she began to feel it in her joints.

“I’ll send you a text and check in or something tomorrow. Try to get some sleep, alright?”

At last raised to a height that he could use, Milo rose up from his length-wise hover over Milla’s front. Planting his feet to either side of his sister’s mattress smothered buttocks-fat, he next dropped himself into a squat, and finally spread his arms outwards just far enough for him to wrap his hands around the end point of her calves. With Milla’s help, he used his newfound ‘grounding points’ to bend the soles of her feet in towards her skull, then back behind it. Ultimately, the position that he left the limbs in mirrored the shape of a laurel wreath—a shape that primed the heat of her crotch up towards the oversized loaf of slop-glazed cockmeat hung above it.

“Night, Milla. Love you.”

By way of learnt reflex, Milla found an opportunity to speak up for herself. The phrase ‘I love you’ was one meant to be followed with ‘I love you too’…

Regardless of the time or place one found themselves.

“L-Love you teewwwwwUUGHHHW ♥ ♥”

Waiting and watching for the perfect opportunity to take what he wanted, Milo dropped his crotch through a weighty, forward angled squat the moment his sister began to speak. Right before she could finish her sentence, the pulsing nose of his oversized erection collided with her soaked outer lips and forced the pudgy entranceway into yet another splatter-laden spread around its girth.

Its ingress continued well beyond this point. Whilst his sibling’s expression of ‘affection’ was warped into yet another pleasure-addled coo, the weight of his frame and what little strength his child-sized musculature could muster sent inch after inch of his unwashed breeding instrument into a steady, canal-swelling depression through her cunt. Embraced amidst orgasmic eruptions of cunt-syrup against its exterior and the suggestive squelching of cunt-flesh against its vein-studded girth, the end of its forward slide came only after the engorged bloat of her cervix denied it further ingress.

And then it began again. All-too-eager to feel Milo’s cockmeat dig in against the peak of her womb, Milla’s cervix slipped into a vapid throating of his glans at the slightest imposition of pressure against its face. Thus, in what seemed to be a single prolonged, gut-wrenching and fluid slogged instant, the entirety of Milo’s cock was driven to a stomach-tenting hilt within her from vaginal canal to uterus.

The brutal effectiveness of Milo’s efforts was not without consequence. The pleasure smeared and smothered against the meat of his prefucked member as it sunk through her depths reminded him of just how adept his sister’s folds were at milking his member. If he did not proceed carefully, his decision to squat-skewer his phlegm-glazed erection into her so soon after goring her throat would cost him a fair amount of dignity.

But he had prepared for this. Years of fucking his sister precisely like this had prompted him to steel himself well before introducing his cock to the gluey constriction of her folds.

Regrettably, this represented the sum of his ‘preparation’. When a pair of arms were wrapped around the back of his neck and his head was drawn down near-to contact with Milla’s, his frame became that of any other child caught within a sudden hug.

In search of answers for his sudden entrapment, he turned his gaze back towards his sister’s face. In the lust-tinged smirk spread across her lips and the cherried redness of her features, he found the obvious:

Milla had let go of her phone…

Just as he had suggested that she do.

“S-Sorry, Neil. I guess I-I’m still feeling sick after all ♥.” Milla exhaled, lips and features poised directly ahead of her brother’s. “My phone is being weird, so I can’t hang up. Just go whenever okay? Byeeeeee ♥.”

With this, Milla redirected what little attention she had devoted to speaking out of the corner of her mouth towards her brother. In her eagerness to emphasize her indifference towards the rest of the world and smother boy with her depraved attentions, she went from smiling at his features to speaking at them in next to no time at all. All whilst her cellphone remained just barely within earshot.

“H-Happy? You’ve got what you wanted now, so there’s no excuse for you to keep pouting like a s-stupid little toddler anymore.” she spat, voice barely more audible than a whisper. “N-Next time you want me so bad, just t-tell me beforehand and I won’t talk for so long. I don’t like it when you’re pushy like that on purpose; it’s not cute.”

Some amount of reproach found its way into her voice, but the very next sentence that she produced made the ‘message’ she had attempted to convey pointless.

“A-Anyway, hurry up. I-I wanna go to bed, so start stirring up my cunt already ♥. Blow out all of your stinking baby-juice into my womb like the overgrown brat you are.”

In Milla’s utterances were numerous opportunities for Milo to retort in a way that might hurt her. Each one that appeared was obvious to him, yet he allowed them all to pass him by.

Completing his latest ‘punishment’ could come later. Without delay, Milo limited his response to an upward pop from his squat, and an affectionate snapping of his lips down into contact with Milla’s…

-

**HATE THAT ISN’T REAL**

After initiating another spittle-laden kiss with his sister, Milo devoted himself to the task of gutting her cunt with his cock.

The position that he had assumed prior to hilting himself was perfect for it. Whilst his upper body lay sustained against the jiggling excess of breast meat at Milla’s chest, his foot-planted lower body was free to swing and plunge his member through her syruped womanhood as they pleased. Following the form established by the first conscious thrust that he had produced—a punishingly deep downward squat as combined with an inwardly slopped hooking of his crotch---the cock-injections produced between these fractions of his frame saw the boy’s slop-mired erection driven through one messy, gut-bloating impression after another.

He did not need to think his way through the effort, either. More desperate for release than he had been at any point since Milla’s arrival, his body produced these plunges by way of instinct and reflex. Furthermore, they had ‘help’. No matter how heavily Milo smashed his breeding loaf through to its nauseating tent of Milla’s womb, the sputtering canal refused to produce so much as a quiver of rejection. Throughout a given plunge or extraction, her depths persisted in one of only two states: a clamoring inward retraction, or an unfocused fit of vein-suckling convulsion. Whereas the former made for a pleasurable parting of her squirting folds during the curved gallow-descents of his erection, the former ensured that the overfucked hole did not interfere with their reversion. Thus, whether taking her brother’s mucus-smeared shaft to the hilt or having her inner walls pulled near inside-out by its retraction, Milla’s innards maintained their status as the perfect “meat toilet” for her brother’s cock.

As he did not have to ‘problem solve’ whilst working his way towards an orgasm, Milo applied his yet-invested mental resources to the task he had shelved prior to kissing his sister. Somehow, he needed to educate Milla as to what his latest plunge-fucking of her cunt was, and what it wasn’t.

Being himself, only a single worthwhile method came to mind. Some seconds into whirling his tongue against the larger and fatter organ installed into her mouth, he tore his lips out of contact with hers and spoke.

Impressively, he did not sound nearly as breathless as he felt.

“T-This is your fault, y’know. Who the f-fuck drags out such a p-pointless conversation? You could’ve s-said you were…busy…o-or sleepy. Then y-you could’ve just hung up or something...” he breathed out, voice riddled with a frail vehemence. “But no. You like getting used like a p-piece of meat, so you just created a-another situation where you’d get…”

For as much frustration and disgust remained accessible by his consciousness, so too did greed fester within it. As he spoke, additional dollops of the sewage-rind seed that his balls produced was added to the reservoir built up at the base of his length. No less jarring an experience for the number of times that he had endured it, the happening peeled a strained wince across the boy’s face whilst a heavily vascular throb rippled through the fattest veins mounted to the face of his erection.

But only for a moment.

“W-Where you get used like one. Y-You’re a shitty liar, too. If you wanted to go to bed, y-you never would have come in h-here with that retarded smile on your face.”

Just as soon as he finished with his utterance, Milo braced himself for a response from Milla. Common sense argued that doing so was unnecessary. While far from orgasmic or lust-addled, a gap-mouthed preoccupation could be seen spread across his sister’s face. Her eyes were rolled up towards the peak of their sockets, and a careless trickle of mucus could be seen drooling down from her right nostril. Shortly, the pleasure he had squeezed into her cunt thus far had been sufficient to ‘muddy’ her fiery sense of self.

Convincing as they appeared, Milo knew better than to trust the expressions that she produced. No matter his opinion of her, their history spoke for itself.

Milla was far too sturdy a piece of meat for her own good.

“O-Oh, so _that’s_ why you’re fucking me like this?” some seconds after Milo’s utterance, Milla willed her features into an equally shaky glare up at her younger brother. “Y-You’re the fucking liar; y-you were dying to k-keep fucking me when h-he called, so I-I just decided to…to let you s-since you got s-so impatient. S-Stop trying to put words in m-my mouth. You do this, like, e-every time I try to d-do something remotely---f-fuck~ ♥—remotely n-nice for you…”

Like Milo, Milla’s ‘explanation’ for what had occurred (and what was occurring) was biased in her favor. Unlike her brother, however, Milla openly admitted her desire to ‘give’ her brother the use of her body. As she was presently, resisting (or rephrasing) this desire was not possible for her. She had no wellspring of mental resources with which to think, and no ungodly tolerance for the sensations fucked into her cunt. Her frame absorbed the thunderous sledgehammer blows of cockmeat into her cunt, but her mind was incapable of blunting the pleasure produced by her doing so. Whether in the form of a sickle-curved log of cockmeat tenting her uterus (and abdominals), the wriggling of obese, tree-root length earthworms-blood vessels against her cunt-lining, or pressurized bursts of cunt-syrup fucked from her depths, there was always _something _for her senses to contend with. A something that demanded she speak honestly with the boy responsible for the pleasures that they wrought.

Despite her best attempt at ‘levelling’ with the boy whilst his cock stretched and swelled the meat of her cunt like a fleshlight, what Milo took away from her response was disbelief.

If what Milla had said was the truth, he had misread her intent entirely. Worse still, he had allowed his emotions to influence his behavior as a result. Taking ownership of such abject childishness on his part was not beyond him, but when put up against the alternative of his sister being a liar, the latter explanation was much less embarrassing than the former.

As such, he selected it—even whilst knowing that he ought not.

“S-So then why…” nearly pouting, Milo momentarily discarded some of the feral automaticity behind his thrusts. In the moment, he felt as though a more ‘convincing’ sensation was required to bend his sister’s opinion into congruence with his. Thus, he curtailed each depression of his squat to a slight bounce, and curtailed the flicks of his crotch to short and slight swings that rifled mere inches of his cock up and down through her depths.

“W-Why were you so happy to k-keep talking for so long? T-Tell me why I’m wrong: i-if it wasn’t so that I’d f-fuck you like this, what was it for?” Mlio exhaled, lustful conflict strewn out over his face. “If it’s not t-that, you must r-really like that faggot you pretend to date t-then, huh?”

The moment Milo adjusted the pattern of his thrusts, Milla felt certain that she was going to lose herself. Suddenly, what little breathing room her folds enjoyed between his thrusts evaporated. This and this alone constituted an excuse to succumb to cross-eyed bliss and squirt mindlessly until Milo finally drowned her womb with his seed.

Initially, Milla had intended to do exactly this. However, after hearing her brother’s indirect explanation for her behavior, she refused. Pleasure-addled or no, the opportunity that Milo had plated for her was far too appetizing for her to ignore.

“…So _thaaaat’s_ it ♥.” she cooed, lips curling into the projection of a snide lust. “Milo’s jeaaaalousssss. M-My arrogant little b-brother doesn’t like that his sister is s-such a good actor ~.”

Confirmation for her claim appeared within seconds. Milo sharpened his thrusts to a state of womb-bruising intolerability, and the force with which he pushed down against her ankles increased for only the second time since their placement.

He would never say it, but she had guessed right.

“N-Nothing to say, huh? J-Jus---guuugh~ohmigod—j-just gonna try to k-keep fucking me until I shut up ♥?” she teased. “T-That’s so c-cute. All of this w-work just so you d-don’t have to think about something t-that you…”

“don’t.”

“lilkeeeeehhO-Oh my f-fuckin’ gooood, you a-asshole ♥ ♥.”

Milla’s refusal to succumb to the stinging bliss made to throb from her cunt-lining and the debilitating euphoria that it produced within her mind did not render these things non-existent.

With every second that passed, the syrup-clogged ***SLSRH!*** wrought from Milo’s tireless thrusts grew louder. At the root of the noise was a near-constant string of orgasmic convulsions through her womanhood and the gratuitous expulsion of arced spurts of cunt-syrup from their depths.

As they were presently, these things pointed towards a steady taxing of her innards towards failure. Were this to come to pass, both the stimulation that she endured and the narcotic haze that accompanied it would exceed her ability to withstand.

Partway through her ‘outing’ of Milo’s ruse, his thrusts pushed her past the point of no return. The throbbing suckle produced by her womb told her everything that she needed to know: soon, Milo’s thrusts would grind her consciousness into mush.

But not before she finished speaking.

“…I-It doesn’t have t-to be like this, M-Milo. I get that…I get that you’re too different to j-just tell me how you feel l-like you used to, but i-if you’d just tell me a-about the stuff you f—nyughh ♥—f-feel, I c-could do something about it.”

“I-It sounds like I like Neil t-too much ‘cause y-you always tell me m-my acting i-is bad. I-I get scared w-when you tell me that sometimes; I d-don’t—MMUGH ♥—w-want it to be m-my fault that we have to stop d-doing this ♥.”

“I j-jus wanna make i-it so that we c’n d-do this forever, s’sh..”

Remorseless in its timing, Milla’s ‘time’ arrived, and denied her the remainder of her intended utterance. In its place, her libido demanded that she produce something entirely differently.

Strangely, this new utterance was no less fulfilling for her to utter relative to what she had imagined for her declaration. But this was to expected. She did not know it, but both of them conveyed the very same thing.

The only thing that separated them was nuance.

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme ♥. Gut your sister’s cunt with your stinking cock! D-Do it until you cum ♥.” Milla hissed, eyes glazed over with need. “Give m-me all of the baby juice that y-you saved up while I was gone! L-Let me feel it squirm inside my womb again Miloooo ♥ ♥.”

Milo could not have denied his sister if he had tried. Engorged erection aside, her cooed requests landed on the ears of a child compelled to compliance.

Admitting that his sister had guessed correctly wasn’t an option. Nothing about his circumstance barred him from denying her claim, but at his core, this was not what he wanted to do.

With her words more so than the hyperactive fuckhole gloving his member, Milla had satisfied the most petulant of his desires: his greed for her affection.

His greed for her.

-

**WOW, GAY BRO. **

Once, there was a time wherein Milo’s greed concerning his sister was realized through something other than domineering sexuality. Some years prior throughout a period that the boy often tried to forget, he expressed his desire towards her much like a child expressing possessiveness of a toy.

Then, his opinion of her was of far greater esteem than what one might attribute to a mere object. Another individual like her did not exist, and so far as he was concerned, most of if not all of the things that she did with him were things that no one else could give him.

Thusly, he became attached to her. Being apart from her annoyed him, and the idea of her treatment of him being extended towards anyone else filled him with a distinctly pouty. He was not shy about explaining the source of his displeasure when asked, either. The only people that dared were Milla herself and their parents, yet he saw no issue in describing the truth to them.

Milo had not done much growing between this period and the present. Drawn out in full by Milla’s conversation with her boyfriend, the ugly petulance locked within his heart had resulted in a temporary ‘sullying’ of his perspective towards Milla.

The eruption of a single strand of semen through Milo’s length was for the youth sufficient motivation for a ‘reversion’ of this shift. Whilst forcibly reorienting his sister’s frame and all throughout his exhaustive drilling of her folds, he had regarded her as a flippant sow interested only in the progressive destruction of her own mind with pleasure. According to the jealousy that burned within his heart, this was the only explanation for her seamless shift between withstanding his cock’s pummeling of her esophagus and the affectionately playful chatter she engaged in with her boyfriend. Even when she explained away this ease as a skill that she had developed for his sake—an act that satiated his childish greed and edged him into orgasm—the ‘lens’ through which he viewed her did not change.

Beset by a powerful orgasm, reason was again granted residence within him. Following this, he could not help but begin viewing his sister as she deserved to be viewed. She was not wholly self-centered, nor was she unwittingly a slave to her own desires.

She was the same. The sister that he had known as an infant, the sister that had helped raise him, and the sister that had decided that being around him was more important than her education.

Every strand of semen messily discharged from the nose of his member created further justification for this ‘change in perspective’. Moments after the first stand of nutrient-fed reproductive sludge from his balls was blasted out into a uterus-obscuring blanket atop the roof of her womb, the organ’s interior snapped out of its suckle to the top most inches of his shaft. Trained to accept the thickest and nastiest loads that his member had to offer, it spread away from his glans to open up as much space for his load as it could. Consequentially, the threads of nut that wriggled through his member in the seconds that followed—bulbous chains of yellowed cock-juice fattened to a thumb’s width by the duration of their stewing—were allowed ample use of its interior. Stray globules of nut sputtered from out of the fringes of his urethra were granted as many disorganized splatters against the walls of her womb as they desired whilst the ropes themselves, regardless of their length, thickness, or the vigor of the squirming sperm cells packed into them, obtained seamless ‘pooling’ privileges within the well of semen growing at the back half of her womb.

Though a child still in the midst of development, the numerous ‘abnormalities’ owned by Milo’s frame allowed for him to recognize precisely what the goings-on within his sister’s womb meant. Per usual, Milla’s innards were working to milk out, and subsequently retain every steaming dollop of seed built up at the root of his cock. No matter if the filling of the back half of her womb became a swelling of its interior from roof to base (an inevitability given the amount of seed he had stored), ‘rejection’ was not an option for it. Until the volume of over-pent baby juice packed into her uterus demanded a regurgitation of his load’s excess into her vaginal canal (and ultimately between her cunt lips), Milla’s comfort was to be disregarded in favor of chugging and retaining a child’s semen.

The womb of a self-centered whore was unlikely to behave this way. Upon feeling the initial loosening of her wombs grasp and recalling the countless other instances wherein it had accepted his seed like this, all of the remaining room for ‘debate’ about Milla’s intent disappeared

At this, Milo smiled.

There was plenty for him to be happy about. Not including the progressive siphoning of seed from his balls, he had confirmed that the explanation Milla had given for her behavior was the truth.

For a little boy hopelessly attracted to his elder sister, nothing could be better.

“W-Well, whatever. With how hard your insides are slurping out my cum, you’re probably telling the truth. “ he exhaled, weary features betraying the normalcy that he attempted with his voice. “I-If it helps you to not do something t-this annoying again, you can think whatever you want about me. And as long as you don’t…”

“I might consider t-telling you stuff or whatever if that’s what you want...”

In yet another bizarre extension of faith in his sister’s sexual tolerance, Milo directed these utterances at his sister in spite of her face’s suggesting that she could not hear him. Since the beginning of his orgasm, the weight of her euphoria had muddled her visage into a familiar state of detached bliss. Again had her eyes rolled up towards their socks, and again had her mouth been drawn into a slack-jawed smile indicative of the slightest sexual stupefaction. Now, however, a trickle of blood drooled from her right nostril as opposed to mucus.

Such a face was unlikely to be the first one imagined for an individual capable of comprehension, much less speech.

Nevertheless, Milla managed both. Of the words that the boy could have uttered in the midst of his orgasm-induced haze, none were more satisfying for her than these…

Or they would have been, were here eardrums not already encumbered by the repeated ***GLRP-GLRP-GLRP*** produced as her womb was injected with thread after thread of Milo’s seed. What she heard instead was a bizarre blend of Milo’s words and the noise induced by her womb’s bloating.

In response to it, her tongue pressed strained and nauseated words across her tongue one after another.

“I…will keep thinking t-that, thanks… ♥” she giggled. “A-Also, I f-forgot to mention something…”

Mid-sentence, Milla bent her gaze down towards her stomach. The blunted phallic distension that should have tented her bruised abdominals was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a squishy, beackball-sized sac of semen-bloated stomach flesh devoid of the taut roundness to be expected of ‘fluid inflation’. Owed entirely to the consistency of Milo’s cum and her body’s acclimation to it, the fattening of her uterus instead presented a doughy mass of stomach flesh that wobbled for each spurt of semen flushed into it.

A second or taking in the sight was the only thing that Milla desired from her glance. No matter how obscenely her stomach was made to bloat with semen, the sight of it (as combined with the sensation of sperm cells wriggling against her uterine lining) was too satisfying for her to pass up.

Especially when Milo could watch her do so.

“Y-You still owe me for what you did this morning. This doesn’t count.”

Just slightly too fatigued to become incredulous, Milo descended into complete exasperation.

“…What do you even want that you’re willing to do all this shit for, anyway?” he asked.

“N-No, fuck you. You know w-what it is; either give it to me or I s-swear to god I’m not going to fuck you f-for a week. I’ll do it, M-Milo.”

Seemingly with no other choice but to think, Milo thought. Feigning a process that slanted his gaze away from Milla’s and disturbed his features with an embarrassed discomfort, he engaged his distracted consciousness in a search for something that Milla might accept.

He did not do so for very long, of course. He already knew what his sister desired; what he needed to think on was a means of giving it to her that he could stomach. In the end, he found that no such means existed.

It never had, and in all likelihood, it never would.

“_I love my big sister Milla_.” he muttered, You’d better stop complaining when I call you a degenerate. No one normal gets off to something that lame.”

No cutting retort to this utterance left Milla’s lips. Content enough with its first half to disregard the second, she instead smiled a smile that only she could produce, and giggled as if made genuinely bashful by her brother’s love.

Soon afterwards, she became herself again.

“See, that wasn’t very hard, was it? Really makes me wonder why you’re fucking difficult all the time ♥ .” she began, softly. “Now we’re even. I do actually want to get to sleep some time tonight, so here…”

Yet again, he arms reached upwards beckon her brother inward.

“Let’s makeout. T-Then I have to try getting up, okay?”

Milo did not need to struggle his way through acquiescence to this request, nor did he need to feign thought about how best to manage it. Just as soon as he laid eyes on his sister’s arms, he fell into them.

As did his lips fall into another warm embrace wet her own.

(tastatura is a faggot ass nigga, man. Wackest line I ever done read. Lips falling onto each other? Some faggot ass shit man, booooooooo.)


	3. A Nigga Been Playing (Game That Isn't Finished & Costs 90 Dollars) His Whole Life

** APPROXIMATELY 4 YEARS PRIOR**

_ Inside a bedroom lit to invalidate the night of the outside world stood a younger brother and an older sister. Hardly a match for his sister’s knee, the younger brother stood with his back to the door of the room as if intending to block it with his miniscule frame. Indifferent to his presence and otherwise occupied, the older sister devoted herself to packing several open suitcases strewn out between the room’s floor space and the face of her mattress. _

_ If taken up in two very different activities, the younger brother and older sister were focused more so on one another than anything else. Whilst standing at the door, the younger brother continually spoke out so as to take more of the older sister’s attention for himself. Acting as her station implied she would, the older sister engaged the younger brother actively enough to feed his desire for attention whilst making certain that she progressed with her ‘primary’ task. _

_ Were the expressions on their faces not wracked with discomfort and the words that they spoke drowned in callousness and desperation, the scene within the bedroom could have been mistaken for one of many meetings terse meetings between a mismatched pair of siblings. _

_ In reality, it was anything but. _

_ “But I don’t want you to go!” the younger brother exclaimed. “I don’t care if it means we’d havta stop doing stuff! I’d stop—I-I’d do lotsa other stuff, too! I’d make it s-so no one would worry about u-us when we’re together!” _

_ “I would, Milla. W-Why won’t you let me try?” _

_ The words that the boy produced tightened the older sister’s face, and tempted her to turn and face the boy responsible for them. She didn’t, however; what knowledge she maintained of herself and of her younger brother warned that were she to, she’d regret doing so. _

_ This in mind, she exhaled. Focusing her attention on the suitcase ahead of her, she began urging herself to speak out without meeting her brother’s gaze. _

_ Ironically, the same instant that she started on this task was the one wherein her facial expression loosened. _

_ “…I’ve explained this before. I’m not doing this because I’m worried about anyone finding out. Dad asks his questions, but it’s only because he thinks you’re too attached to me. If I wanted to, we could do so much more and no one would ever think twice about it.” she started, words blanketed by a distasteful arrogance. _

_ “S-So then—” _

_ “But that’s just it—I don’t. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t hate myself for any of the things that I’ve done, and I don’t want to forget that I did them, either. I just don’t want to do it anymore. I want to try being normal; we both know I’d never be able to do that here.” she continued. _

_ “That is why I’m leaving. Now that I’ve explained for the 100 _ _ th _ _ time, can you get out of my _ ** _fucking_ ** _ room and leave me alone? Standing there and complaining isn’t going to change what’s happening, so you’re really just working yourself up for nothing.” _

_ Reminded of reality by the older sister’s words, the younger brother receded into himself. Understanding what he had been told was easy; comprehending adult concepts had always been a talent of his. Accepting it as delivered in a caustic, hateful tone that his sibling so rarely directed at him was the issue. Presented this way, the possibility that frustration may’ve been guiding her actions never occurred to him. Like any other child, he was pushed to assume that his words and actions were directly responsible for his sister’s displeasure. _

_ Under this assumption, discontentment began to infect his tone as well. _

_ “I’m not working myself up for nothing! I’m doing this ‘cause I love you a lot! If you go away, that’s gonna change—y-you’re gonna find someone that you like even more than me!” the younger brother retorted. _

_ “How come you gotta be normal? I dunno what that is an’ I don’t care! How come you can’t just be you? What made it start bein’ a bad thing?” he added. “Don’t tell me that I’ll understand when I’m bigger; you’re way bigger than me n’you don’t even know why it’s bad, either!” _

_ The younger brother saw that his words drew a flinch from the older sister, but he didn’t stop speaking. As though a dam within him had burst, the outburst he produced was quickly followed by others owning a similar intensity. _

_ “That’s fine, though. I’m not a baby—I know that stuff doesn’t change just because a person wants it to!” he spat. “I’m not like you, though! I’m gonna make it so that I’ll never have t’give up stuff I like just ‘cause it’s normal or whatever! I’ll learn everythin’ I hafta, an’ I’ll make sure I can do all the stuff I need t’ make it happen. ” _

_ “I’ll do it _ ** _WITHOUT YOU_ ** _ , too!! You wanna know why?” _

_ Overcome by discontentment, the burst dam within the younger brother acquired a rate of outflow that could not be matched by the flow of words through his mouth alone. Moments before he could finish speaking, bloated, marble-sized tears welled within his eyes by anxiety began flowing down from the corners of his eyes to compensate for the overflow of emotions from his frame. _

_ Again made to confront his own immaturity, the younger brother’s remaining composure was drowned in the volume of these tears. Well aware of what would become of him if he remained in his older sister’s presence, he created an excuse to seperate himself from her. _

_ In the blink of an eye, his tirade came to an end. _

** _“IT’S BECAUSE I HATE THIS!”_ **

** **

_ This uttered, the younger brother turned to face the door behind him and wrenched its face open just wide enough for him to slip through it. _

_ Past it, he began to run. Without a destination in mind or a reason to approach it, he tore through the confines of his home as though his life depended on it—all so as to separate himself from feelings harbored within him from the moment his frame had been passed into a certain pair of arms during his infancy. _

_ Privy to precisely how fast her younger brother was progressing, the older sister felt compelled to follow after him. She attempted to do so as well. The moment the sound of footsteps hit her ears, she shifted her front towards the mouth of her bedroom for the first time in minutes and pushed off of her left foot to begin running herself. _

_ But she couldn’t. Within a single step, the words that had been shouted at her at the top of her younger brother’s lungs completed their descent into the core of her mind. The meaning that they contained froze her mind, and the pain that they inflicted on her heart compressed her ribcage so tightly that she began to feel as if she was suffocating. _

_ Beset by such emotion, running became impossible. Before she could think up a means of pushing herself through the act, the same mountainous tears that had flowed from the younger brother’s eyes began to flow from her own. _

_ With their outflow came an onset of weakness. Seemingly dispossessed of whatever strength had held her frame upright, the older sister slumped down to her knees and bent her line of sight down towards her thighs. _

_ For as much as she wished to emote, she couldn’t. She lacked the sadness to sob, and what anger remained within her wouldn’t have sufficed for more than a single yell. The only thing that remained within her—the only thing keeping her mind from collapsing—was lament. _

_ A lament released into the world amidst the patter of teardrops against the sweat-moistened face of her thighs. _

_ “Why did I have to be born this way?” _

-

**THE PUBLIC RESTROOM OF A MALL—PRESENT DAY (AFTERNOON)**

***PLAPP-PLAPP-PLAPP-PLAPP***

Each time Milo’s ears processed the sound of his sister’s sweaty, sex-greased assfat colliding within his crotch, what ‘reason’ remained within him was presented with greater cause for concern. Full and sodden, the noises were those that could only have so many sources. If perceived—for example in a feverishly repeated string as accompanied by muffled coos and the occasional *PLORT* born of a glutted lubrication’s discharge against a smooth, sex-greased crotch—the average individual was likely to imagine sexual intercourse as its cause. Whether this individual was the worst sort of degenerate or a child on the cusp of embracing the realities of intercourse was irrelevant. At its core, the exclamation of flesh and fluid maintained qualities that the human ear was incapable of ‘mistaking’ for anything else.

What struck his reason as cause for concern was understood by his psyche as yet another reason to exacerbate the act responsible for these noises. 

In the minutes that Milla had spent driving her cunt up and down the girth of his cock, stimuli from a number of different sources had driven his brain into a state of grinning euphoria. From the slobbering cocksleeve hungrily throating over half of his member in and out of its midst to the flushed, closed-lipped expression that its owner directed back at him, sexual satisfaction was heaped upon the youth in spades. When the spurting of syrup-dense lubrication out against his crotch (alongside the relative humidity within the restroom stall surrounding them) soaked his crotch such that the sweaty exterior of Milla’s ass produced a messy clopping noise for each one of her bounces, his psyche demanded that he fine tune it to be as visceral as possible.

From his current position seated atop the stall’s toilet, the avenues through which he might do so were few are far between. Thrusting his crotch upwards to meet Milla’s dumping of her rear was liable to interrupt the metronome that she had established whilst further infecting the air with the sounds of her cooing and panting. Enjoyable as such things would be, both ran contrary to what he had imagined for himself upon dragging her into the restroom in the first place.

In lieu of a more potent alternative, he again utilized the same method that had allowed him to aggravate countless bouts of sex with his sister: his ability to speak.

“If you keep squirting on my cock like this, you’re going to have a lot more work to do before we leave.” speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the noise produced by their sex, Milo first addressed his sister, then turned his gaze upwards to meet her own. “I get that this was my idea, but fuck. I never thought you’d get to the point where just fucking normally has you squirting your brains out like a retard.”

For as much as these utterances amounted to ‘the norm’ where discourse between them was concerned, in the months that had passed since her return, the sex that they shared had informed him that her perception of his words was not entirely up to her.

Succinctly, verbal abuse had become something that she enjoyed. It therefore came as no surprise to him when she responded to his comments with a vehement punch of her rear down along his member and the projection of a lust-tinged sneer straight back at him.

“That’s a lot of talk from a brat whose, like, a minute away from blowing all of his backed up nut inside his sister’s cunt.” Milla spat, voice unaffected by the length of cockflesh she had hilted inside of herself. “Besides, aren’t you the one who dragged me in here? Last I checked, little Milo needed to drain his balls inside his big sister’s cunt _so bad _that he was willing to turn a perfectly normal trip to the mall into another excuse to fuck.”

“So, really, which one of us is the pig? Is it the loving big sister whose fucking herself hard enough to make her insides into a slimy dicksleeve just so her little brother will stop **fucking** whining? Or is it…”

Evidently more excited by Milo’s utterances than upset by them, Milla was quick to compliment her retort with action. Peeling her hips upwards, she intentionally drew her drooling lower lips back up along the length of his shaft as though doing so was not the bone-chillingly pleasant experience that it was for her. Ignoring the mixed splutters of cunt-syrup and precum that tumbled from her lower lips as she progressed, she halted her ascent at a peak 3/4th’s of the way up his shaft. Then, before any of the wobbling strands of translucent sexual goo elongated between her lower lips and his crotch could fall into contact with Milo’s member, she skewered her rear back down to a ball’s deep compression against his crotch.

Cervix tented and folds spread, all of the motivation that she needed to finish speaking began throbbing through her midsection at the same pace as Milo’s cock.

“**The little brother who’s addicted to pounding his sister’s cunt until she squirts everywhere **♥?”

Per usual, Milla posed another question to her brother after having already come to a conclusion on how he would answer. Completely indifferent to what the reality of this answer might turn out to be, she immediately turned her latest envelopment of his cock into her folds into the resumption of her bouncing along it—this time with an even more lustful aggression. Exchanging depth of depression for speed and aggression, she began flogging the fat of her rear up and down a smaller fraction of his cock such that a brand new chain of noises was produced to compete with the now-incessant *PLATT-PLATT-PLATT* that had consumed the stall’s airspace.

These noises were those birthed from her inner walls' shameless ‘throating’ of Milo’s cock. What were once forgettable *SPLRUTS* and *SQULECHS* created as sodden canal walls were made to discharge the lubrication soaking their exteriors in accommodation of a brutish loaf of phallus flesh became a guttural symphony of squishing and slurping better suited for discharge from the lips fixed to their owner’s face. Matching the pace of the noise chain maintained by Milla’s assfat, a combination of ***SLRSH***(s) induced as her fattened depths were dispossessed of the cockflesh drawn from them per stroke, and greasy *PLORPS* composed as her lower lips collided with the vein-gilded root of the organ began emanating from the pair’s genitals for all to hear.

Milla hadn’t intended to create such a cacophony. Right from her re-skewering of Milo’s member into her cunt, her focus was firmly divided between the writhing pipe of cockflesh distending her midsection and the slew of stimuli reaped from the pummeling of her ass against the crotch to which it was attached.

In truth, only her comments regarding Milo’s nature had been exaggerations. Having enjoyed sex with the youth countless times, the pace of his cock’s throbbing and the hyperactivity of the rigid blood vessels coating its exterior assured her that he was much closer to an orgasm than his behavior suggested.

If she were successful in forcing him to orgasm with a simple exacerbation of her bouncing pattern, the suggestive insults she had launched at him would gain veracity. More importantly, finishing him sooner rather than later would spare her from further subjection to the narcotic pleasure that bloomed within her gut each time she stamped the nose of his glans against her cervix. A perfect mixture of strenuous stimulation for her womanhood and stinging discomfort for her body cavity, the sensation of taking his cock into her depths was as much addicting for her as it was for him.

Desperate to keep her frame in some semblance of ‘working order’ whilst the two of them remained in public, Milla did her utmost to make her desires a reality before her frame betrayed her. Deafening herself to the noises produced by their sex in favor of whole-hearted devotion to the breakneck pumping of her buttocks, every spec of energy within her was devoted to either her hip motions, or the imposition of cock-milking contractions of her cuntflesh against Milo's shaft.

  
  


In producing these acts, Milla committed herself to the idea that she knew her brother as well as he knew himself. Truthfully, she did—at least to the extent that a sister might be able to understand her brother. Regrettably, the stimulation inherently attached to this ‘understanding’ again blinded her to the duality of its nature.

It was certainly true that she maintained insight as to her brother’s condition; this much could be inferred from the agape grimace that had spread over the youth’s face since her bouncing resumed. All the same, her brother maintained just as much ‘insight’ as to her condition. Approximately a minute after her tireless plunges began anew, Milo pushed both of his palms into contact with the face of both of Milla’s asscheeks. Knowing full well that Milla was unlikely to resist an imposition from his frame, he began pushing up against the impossible mass of flesh and fat whilst drawing his crotch backwards.

He did not wish to speak out whilst doing this, but soon enough, the debilitating suction applied to his shaft as Milla’s cunt was dragged off of his member saw his thoughts begin spilling from his lips one after another.

“T-Turn around; if I cum inside you, it’ll be too hard to hide with what you’re wearing.” he hissed, wincing.

Much to his surprise, Milla was afflicted similarly.

“What, s-so you want it inside my throat, then? I-Isn’t that just as messy?” speaking out in the midst of unplugging his cock from her cunt, hiccups of stimulation disturbed an otherwise even-tempered response from Milla.

“You were gonna have to use your mouth anyway. Another load inside your stomach shouldn’t make a difference.” Milo retorted.

“W-Well it does, actually.” turning around to face her brother on wobbly legs, Milla descended into a half-squat, half-crouch that perfectly levelled her frame with the freshly cunt-bathed length of phallus flesh at her brother’s crotch.

Impressively, though, her eyes remained focused up towards the youth as she spoke.

“It’s gonna make me sick; I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Do you want me to walk around and just suddenly puke cum all over myself?” she asked, annoyance and concern lingering in her tone.

“…That’s not my problem. H-Haven’t you done grosser shit? Just stop complaining.”

“Fuck, why did I even bother asking?” huffing in a mixture of lustful and genuine exasperation, Milla raised her right hand up into a partial encapsulation of Milo’s glans. Once affirmed, she began flicking her wrist inwards and outwards to impose a sharp, masturbatory pumping of her palm’s flesh up and down the phallus section’s needy bloat.

With this, her words and actions became truly distinct from one another.

“Fine, whatever. Just motivate me to do it, then.” she continued, listlessly. “If you don’t, it’s just gonna end up all over my face.”

Between the two of them, the request that she placed could be understood in a number of ways. Now only seconds away from an orgasm, Milo did not have the luxury of stopping to consider which ‘meaning’ his sister was referencing. As such, he opted to air on the side of caution and select every option available to him.

First, he jabbed the face of his left palm flat against Milla’s windpipe. Next, whilst curling his fingers around her neck and impressing the carpel section of hand’s bone structure deeper against the pipe he had smothered, he leaned inwards to bring his features to a short-ranged loom overtop her own.

Here, he wadded saliva within his mouth and spat it at her face without concern for where the volume of spittle would end up.

“Is that enough motivation? If it isn’t, I don't want to hear you ever complain about the shit I call you ever again.” he exhaled, grinning.

Tempting a prospect as it proved to be, Milla did not allow the orgasmic stimulation made to surge across her face speak for her. Using the stinging closure of one of her eyelids underneath a wad of spit as motivation, she righted her pleasure-drunk psyche just in time to conceal a second betrayal of intent from her frame.

Assuming her words could mask the sound of cunt-syrup splattering against a bathroom floor, Milo would be none the wiser to her suffering.

“Maybe. I-I guess we’ll find out in a few hours—if you don’t fucking make me drink more of it by then ♥.”

While a great deal of lust remained audible in the suffocated response that she produced, Milla still managed to make her intentions understood. Paying no mind to the warm pressure growing within her head, she aggressively stroked the drooling nose of her brother’s cock with an abrasive force that her cunt was incapable of producing. Parting her lips to expose the back of her throat a half minute into the effort, she in doing so presented herself as an ‘outlet’ that her little brother might use to satiate himself.

A drooling, bottomless outlet meant only for him.

Whether or not Milo would make use of her remained up in the air, but if nothing else, it could not be said that she hadn’t attempted to avail herself to him. If allowed, she’d stroke his cock until it burst either way. She’d allow him to squeeze down on her neck until blood began dribbling from her nose, and if absolutely necessary, she’d happily pass out with his cock down her throat.

With or without his 'buying in' to her offer, she’d have Milo’s attention—the sort that the boy only devoted to her through abuse.

Ultimately, the full extent of the resolve that she had welled within herself was not required for her to acquire this. Not long after a considerable expulsion of blood began drooling down from her right nostril, a hissed “Fuck!” from Milo was followed by the eruption of a strand of heavy, jasmine-yellow cockjuice from the tip of his member straight towards her face. Following its tip’s collision with the face of her spittle-sealed right eyelid, the full length of this strand was draped down across her cheek and upper lip before its remainder fell into a flesh-obscuring splatter across the face of her tongue.

Subsequently, Milo made it so that further effort from his sister wouldn’t be required for him to enjoy himself. Snapping his right hand up to the back of her head, he purposed the limb to plunge her skull inwards and press the spurting tip of his cock into the humid warmth set behind her lips. By the time a clotted third rope of semen was ejected from the tip of his cock, the position of his glans saw the entirety of its volume messily caked against the puffy meat at the back of her throat.

He did not stop here, however. Having injected as much force as he could into his depression of Milla’s skull, the plunge that he produced successfully skewered his cock through the semen-smeared beginnings of her throat straight down into a partial depression within her esophagus. Whilst consumed by the sensation of dense, backed-up seed snaking its way through his length, the envelopment of his member into another slimy female orifice stoked his need for stimulation higher still. To compensate for his left hands’ preoccupation with his sister’s neck, he satiated this newfound need with a sharp upward thrust from his crotch. Through this (and to a lesser extent, Milla’s esophagus’ familiarity with the monstrous length and girth of his cock), every inch of writhing cockmeat that he had to offer was messily plunged through the beginnings of Milla’s G.I tract.

With this, Milo at last allowed the euphoria of his orgasm to consume him. Following a slight adjustment of his left hand’s compression of Milla’s neck (one that just so happened to focus on the pipe of cockflesh plunged into it), he tightened his half grasp for a second time, and afterwards succumbed to the warm bliss associated with blasting virile seed into one of his sister’s holes.

Overall, the actions that Milo produced in response to his release were everything that Milla could have asked for and more. In the moment, her focus was largely removed from deliberation on whether or not her brother’s latest orgasm would be satisfying; the stuffing of her throat and esophagus alongside the plugging of her nostrils with the musk-drenched exterior of his crotch had provided her with far more important things to think about. Nonetheless, the sensations that she enjoyed gifted her with such overwhelming amounts of stimulation that complete satisfaction came to her as a matter of course.

If by a slim margin, the compilation of semen strands across her esophagus lining was the most effective part of the experience. One after another, disgustingly-overcooked pasta-noodles of mildly-discolored, borderline-scalding semen jetted down from the tip of Milo’s cock down towards her stomach. The initial trio of strands that were discharged this way painted straight lines of melted-cheese quality nut across the floor of her esophagus such that the smooth muscle underneath them completely disappeared. From this point onward, the thumb-wide girth of the strands vomited into her depths resulted in their piling atop one another. In sequence, steaming threads of nut were stacked atop one another and allowed to congeal into a uniform blockage of overfed tadpoles that extended from the lower reaches of her esophagus into her stomach.

Milla allowed this blockage to form simply because she could not be bothered to swallow. Quite content to suffocate whilst sperm cells quivered against her esophagus lining, she allowed its extent to become grosser and grosser until her innards could no longer handle their clogging alone. As Milo’s grasp on her neck was not quite tight enough to completely choke off the upper sections of her esophagus from those beyond the tip of his cock, the passage of time eventually resulted in the mildly discolored nut flushed towards her stomach rising back up around the youth’s cock and into her mouth.

It was at this point that Milla ‘could be bothered’. Subjected to a sensation akin to vomiting, she began swallowing by way of reflex. Pushing clotted chunks of stinking nut into her stomach as nauseating *GLORPS* began echoing from her throat, she hurriedly jumped into a task that she should have attended to seconds prior.

But she did so too late. Not long into the effort, the volume of semen that surged up her esophagus flooded her mouth with enough of the pliant grime to render both of her cheeks as pudgy sacs of the substance. Though this event intensified the effort that she put into clearing semen into her stomach, the amount of nut refluxed into her mouth remained sufficient to keep her cheeks at their new size throughout the remainder of Milo’s orgasm.

A half-minute of swallowing regurgitated semen back down towards her stomach proved the ‘extent’ of Milla’s punishment. When Milo’s final morsel of cock juice was spewed out towards her stomach, both of the grasps he had placed on her skull were adjusted accordingly. With his right hand, he took to tugging her skull upwards by her hair as if to remove the glorified condom he had wrapped around his shaft. After releasing her windpipe, he put his left to work pushing up against her forehead so as to free his throbbing erection from her gullet’s grasp that much sooner.

To a point, Milla would not have had the event unfold any other way. Whilst the squirming warmth of the semen within her stomach grew for every gulp that she managed, so too did the ‘discomforts’ that accompanied her progressive asphyxiation. Then, directly in time with the retraction of Milo’s shaft, everything that she was enduring culminated in an experience that even she had not expected.

The moment Milo’s cocktip slipped out from the back of her throat and between her crotch-smeared lips, a low geyser of semen surged up into her mouth to take its place. Oral cavity utterly inundated with the same reproductive fluid that she could only just barely swallow, she found herself with no other choice but to part her lips and tilt her head backwards in a vain attempt at keeping it within her mouth.

Like many others before it, this act was one that the boy responsible for her plight could not help but react to.

“Ah haha, so that’s it? I just didn’t motivate you hard enough?” Milo suggested, voice consumed by a condescending variety of amusement. “You spent all of that time trying to squeeze my cum into your stomach, but in the end, you’re just going to end up puking it all over yourself like a spoiled cunt anyway. I guess that’ll teach me to be nice to you treat you to things when you ask for them…”

Though Milla perceived these utterances, her position did not allow her to respond to them. Presently, the noises she could produce with her mouth were limited to semen-garbled “Mhhah”(s) and “Ghullrg”(s) born of her desire for catharsis. Any thoughtless attempts at speaking with her mouth full or manipulating her tongue too actively was certain to push chewable sludge over the edge of her lower lip and onto her clothes.

All the same, she needed release. Such was the disdain that she maintained towards her plight (and her brother’s phrasing of it) that producing these blended groans felt better to her than doing nothing.

In her mind, each gurgle that she produced represented a fraction of the endless stream of retorts that had echoed through her mind from the moment Milo finished speaking.

_ “Fucking smiling piece of shit, w-whose fault is it that I’m having t-this hard of a time with this? I-If he’d stop fucking cumming so much, I wouldn’t be having this problem!” _

_ “I was gonna treat him to something nice today, too. Maybe I should just dump it on my chest so we have to leave and he gets it through his head that he can’t keep doing this.” _

_ “…He knows that I’m always gonna try my b-best to swallow it all. Can’t he just encourage me or something instead? He was so much cuter when he was little, I swear to god!” _

Among other things, the passage of time saw Milla produce gurgles representing these thoughts in direct sequence with one another.

Following their release, she refocused. Utilizing the catharsis she acquired as only a sexually-warped woman could, she turned her attention to bringing herself to a state where she might chastise her brother aloud.

To this end, she ceased her gurgling and pressed her lips against one another. Fighting against her desire to vomit out the miniature sea of semen contained within her mouth, she swirled and swished the massive load between her cheeks, and at last engaged her throat in an attempt at swallowing it. One clogged, *GLRP*-inducing gulp at a time, she squeezed bloated boluses of semen down through her esophagus until all that remained of the chewy grime was a persistent wadding of the substance atop her tongue.

For the effort, she obtained a right nostril strained into the production of a thin strand of mucus (a mild consequence relative to the smudges of blood underneath its counterpart), a fresh sheet of exertion-borne sweat atop her cheeks and forehead, and a stomach slightly more nauseous than it had been second prior.

In return for the ability to speak, these consequences were a small price to pay.

“Feel stupid now, don’t you?” Milla spat, tone smothered by a mixture of semen and congestion. “If you thought that’d be enough to make me puke, you obviously haven’t been paying attention to the kind of shit you’ve been putting me through since, I dunno, forever.”

“Now, say thank you; tell your sister how lucky you are to have her and how glad you are that she didn’t make you wait until we got home. Do it, or I swear to god I will push fingers down my throat and puke all over myself so that we have to leave.”

Eyes now bored up at the grinning boy above her, Milla continually stared up at him with an intensity that she reserved for instances of utter seriousness.

If he knew anything about her at all, how to meet this gaze would be implicit to him.

“I’m waiting.”

Milo did consider folding when faced with Milla's request. The aftermath of his orgasm had left him slightly lightheaded, and though what she was asking for amounted to humiliation for him, giving it to her was the easiest way for him to ensure that his decision to drag her away remained without consequence. 

Of course, where Milo was concerned, consideration rarely amounted to action. Met with his sister's cutting stare, he snapped both of his palms into contact with the back of Milla's head. Taking advantage of her preoccupation with staring, he used their placement to ram her face in towards his crotch for a second time.

His target was the root of his cock. Bending his wrists off to the right of his shaft, he squarely depressed Milla's lips and facial features into the mess of semen, sweat, and sexual fluids splattered out across his crotch.

Evidently, Milla’s ultimatum was not quite as effective as she had assumed it would be.

"What's there to thank you for? You haven't even started cleaning up yet." Milo chuckled, grinning.

Unwilling to be subverted, Milla wrestled her face out of contact with Milo’s crotch and frowned.

“Fuck you, no. I’m not doing shit until I hear some kind of thanks from you. Push my face all you want.” she spat, stare no less sharp for the additional grime plastered to her cheeks.

Much to Milo’s surprise, Milla’s retort was without any signs of wavering. Whereas she could have retaliated against his depression of her face with further anger or aggression, she restated her demands with the same flat stubbornness that she had used to deny him countless treats in his youth.

Seeing this, the little boy within him was made to feel as if he couldn’t win.

“...I’m not saying any of that shit you said, but if you just want to hear the words, fine.”

Just like that, Milla’s frown became a grin.

“I’m listening.” she replied.

The smile on his sister’s face and the tone of voice she had responded in told Milo that he had lost. Albeit to a lesser extent, these things made him wonder why he had attempted to bully Milla knowing how easily it could be turned back against him as well.

Funnily enough, neither revelation had any bearing on the manner in which he responded to her prompt. Slowly and shakily whilst color rose to his cheeks, he began to part his lips as though completing the act would rob him of something he’d never reacquire.

Then, he spoke.

“My big sister M-Milla is…”

-

**A SIMPLE SUMMER OUTING**

Prior to their outing degenerating into another instance of abusively competitive intercourse within a public restroom, Milla had intended her trip to the mall with Milo to be an enjoyable change of pace for the two of them. After having spent weeks engaging in daily sex with him whilst occasionally interacting with her current boyfriend, a casual outing with just the two of them—ideally one with some amount of sexual contact between them mixed in—began to appear more and more desirable to her.

At the root of this appeal was uncertainty. In the months that had passed since she had returned from university, the matter of whether or not her little brother still enjoyed her company remained up in the air. Their sexual relationship had resumed without issue, but to a point, this was not enough for her. As a young woman who had invested a great deal of time into raising her only sibling, Milla felt it necessary that Milo enjoy being around her. This enjoyment could be projected through a veil of indifference, or even utter discontentment; as an adolescent, a degree of moodiness from him was to be expected of him. So long as she could see some semblance of the smiling child of years past in him, what shape their relationship took on was irrelevant to her.

Left without concrete signage of such a boy’s existence for weeks on end, she immediately turned her thoughts towards methods of bringing him out. As a teenager, Milla recalled the outings she shared with Milo (and only Milo) as being the times wherein the two of them were closest in the natural sense. These instances remained a close second to all of the sex that they enjoyed, but as far as ‘society appropriate’ interactions were concerned, nothing quite as potent came to mind.

Buoyed by her memories concerning these ‘better times’, Milla pushed to recreate them. To account for Milo’s likelihood of refusing an outing with her, she timed the suggestion of their trip down to the day wherein the latest installment of a series of games that he enjoyed was released worldwide. Initially pretending to be ignorant to this information, she used the excitement that he displayed as a pretense to suggest an exchange between them.

Her terms were simple:

_ “Look, I kind of want to get out of the house, but if I go alone, I’m gonna have a bunch of guys annoying me and trying to fuck and whatever. If we go together, it’ll look like I have a kid or something—you’re kinda of short for your age, so I’m preeeetty sure it’ll work.” _

_ “In return, I’ll buy you *game wherein you collect creatures that costs 90 dollars and isn’t finished*. Fuck, stop scowling for one second—I know you have money, but this way, you won’t have to spend it. All you have to do is spend a couple hours with your sister; sounds fair, right?” _

Being himself, Milo was initially wary of his sister’s sudden request for company. To begin with, Milla was more than capable of doing things by herself. The summer months did make it more difficult for her to do these things comfortably—or so his memories argued—but this had never stopped her in years past.

The veracity of her discomfort aside, a more glaring inconsistency stood out to the youth as a reason to be wary. As far as he could remember, Milla had never been particularly approving of the time that he spent playing games. The games themselves weren’t an issue; whilst younger, Milo could recall many an evening spent clumsily instructing his sister to play games meant for multiple players. It was only when he became infatuated with single-player experiences—the sort that resulted in his spending more of his free time away from her—that she expressed discontent with them. Given the nature of _ *game wherein you collect creatures that costs 90 dollars and isn’t finished* _, it seemed strange that Milla would offer to make it even easier for him to pour his time into something that didn’t concern her.

In spite of these suspicions, Milo agreed to Milla’s terms the moment she presented them. Before he was a pragmatist, he was a child; surprise video game gifts were not an offering that he was capable of refusing.

Neither Milo nor Milla intended for the outing to degenerate as it did. Upon arrival at the mall, Milla had planned to draw out their trip to the game store by dragging Milo through a number of stores beforehand. Content to follow along given their destination, Milo had hoped to present himself as the sort of brother that Milla needed him to be (for a time, anyway).

Regrettably, the two of them failed to consider their susceptibility to one another prior to the outing itself.

With the arrival of summer came distinct changes in Milla’s sense of fashion. Specifically, on the afternoon of their departure, Milla had dressed herself in a pair of extremely short-cut black shorts, and a long-length, cleavage sweater devoid of any sort of securing fabric around her neck, shoulders, or upper chest. The length of the latter garment was such that the former was completely hidden underneath it; at a glance, it appeared that Milla was wearing a long sweater as a dress.

For a more typical woman, the combination would have presented a risqué attempt at compensating for the air conditioning blasted within the average mall. On Milla, the watermelon-sized bloat of her ass—a pair of buttocks so unfairly stuffed with wobbling fat that the slightest step from her set them both into a fit of squishy bouncing—pressed her shorts (and the lower reaches of the sweater fabric set atop them) outwards to project a perfect outline of the shape and consistency of the ass they contained. Similarly, the absence of any sort of securing fabric for the top half of her sweater—a garment whose ‘collar’ enveloped the midsection of her triceps and a tantalizing middle line across the bloat of her cleavage—left both of her breasts to jiggle and sway in time with her motions without once pushing her appearance into the realm of indecency. Of course, if not for the strapping looped around her neck and down into a single, fabric-based ‘hook’ for both of her breasts (hooks that just so happened to dig into the puffy swell of their faces), even this could have become arguable.

Thinking nothing of her appearance whilst dressed in these garments, the manner in which Milla carried herself within the mall maintained all of the looseness and abandon of a waifish young woman wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

No amount of intimate familiarity with what her body looked like naked could make her appearance less appealing for Milo. He had been raised to prefer her appearance over others; the time that they had spent apart was nowhere near sufficient to undo years of experience. To make matters worse, distancing himself from her as they progressed wasn’t an option either. From the moment that they stepped out of their home, his left hand was enveloped by her right. This meant that each time Milla stopped their progression or changed directions, his eyes were drawn to some mass of wobbling flesh on her frame.

Inevitably, this led to disaster. After exiting from the second clothing store that Milla had suggested they ‘take a quick peak’ into, Milo’s tolerance for arousal failed him. With the same hand that Milla had used to lead him along, he hurriedly dragged her towards a set of public restrooms he had spotted prior to their entrance.

Not once throughout their progression did he explain where they were going, or what it was he intended to do there. Despite this, Milla followed along without much protesting or resistance.

She knew her brother well enough. If and when he refused to explain itself, it was typically because he couldn’t (or was simply too embarrassed to do so). This aside, the experiences that she had shared with him made it easy enough to infer his intentions from the location itself.

Accepting these intentions was just as straightforward. Though she presented as if his desires were an inconvenience to her, they in truth represented the exact sort of thing she had hoped their outing would include. Not half way into the journey itself, Milo had found her appealing enough to risk sex with her in public. This was not the bright-eyed endearment that she craved, but at the time of its occurrence, it was to her as good a start as any.

the afternoon was young. With a little luck and just enough affection, Milo’s second attempt at dragging her into a bathroom would come after a smile bloomed across his face…

**-**

**A MALL—SLIGHTER LATER ON IN THE AFTERNOON**

For the first time that he could recall (in recent memory), Milo’s surroundings made him feel as though he was an even bigger eyesore than his older sister.

He shouldn’t have been anything close to this. Chilled beverages in hand and department store bags secured around his wrists, he ought to have appeared as any other modern child would have in the midst of a trip to the mall.

Tragically, he was both short, and at that moment, lost. Amidst a food court brimming with people, the sight of rosy-cheeked children idly turning from left to right in search of someone (or something) was difficult to miss. As complimented by his particular brand of ‘cute’ childishness, even the most detached of the mall goers surrounding him could not help but pass a glance in his direction.

He couldn’t blame them. In the first place, a lost child within a mall was not something that most people were capable of ignoring—less so in cases wherein this child presented as having been accompanied by someone.

This fact was not why he refrained from directing his frustrations towards them, however. Whilst engaged in his aimless teetering, it just so happened that a more ‘absorbent’ target for his frustrations already existed: his sister.

“Why is this so hard? Of all people, she shouldn’t be this hard to pick out of a crowd.” Milo grumbled to himself. “Was it really so hard for her to sit still for 5 fucking minutes? I offered to go and get the drinks so she wouldn’t get stared at so much—all she had to do was wait and I’d have come right back.”

“Now I have to be looking around and peeking over people like I’m fucking 4 or someth—”

Incidentally, Milo was far better at searching for people than he gave himself credit for. After minutes of wandering to the left from the juice stand he had ordered from, an immediately recognizable face and figure began drawing his frame over towards some of the more ‘artistic’ seating within the area.

For whatever reason, the typically-shaped food court dining tables that littered the area were complimented by a pocket of more unique seating consisting of benches, open floor space, and a pair of fountains encircled by smooth stone arrangements that could be sat atop.

Planted inconspicuously at the edge of one of these fountains was Milla. Positioned such that the individuals flowing in and out of the area were unlikely to catch sight of her without a lucky glance, Milo’s managing to catch sight of her was largely a result of his abnormal ‘sensitivity’ to her appearance. Once locked on, a half-minute of unhurried walking and weaving again delivered him up to standing position directly ahead of his sister.

For a brief instant, neither of them said a word to one another. Following its passage, however, Milo extended the tall drink cup clutched within his right hand towards her, and spoke.

“Why’d you move?”

“Why d’you think, dipshit?”

“Because you like annoying me?”

“**Because I have pubes on my face and bruises on my neck, you little asshole** . I get enough looks as it is; now the **real** degenerates won’t stop looking at me, either.”

“No one told you to eat yourself into getting a bunch of fat stuffed into your tits and ass. You’d probably attract less attention if you were wearing real clothes, too, right?”

“Oh really? Y’know what else would help me attract less attention? **NOT BEING TOLD THAT I CAN’T WIPE MY FACE OFF**!”

At this, Milo could no longer hold his façade of frustration. After a second or so of stifling a giggle, an outright laugh burst from his lips at the same volume of Milla’s exclamation. Having seated himself beside his sister throughout their conversation, the extent of it very nearly resulted in him teetering back into the fountain basin behind them.

Eventually, though, he righted himself. Stifling his laugh into a projection of his usual grinning indifference, he afterwards turned his attention towards Milla to determine the extent of her claims.

Truthfully, the sight of her was difficult to ignore. Even with her lips angrily pinched around the tip of her purple beverage’s straw (that Taro Slush nigga, oh my god. That shit shit tastes so fucking good, yet it costs 9 dollars or some shit. A nigga has to save up pocket change for two months and cop like one very 6 weeks, I swear to god), the sexual moisture that remained visible on her cheeks and the pubes glued across them stood out relative to the healthy smoothness of her complexion. Similarly, the girlish shape of her neck made the reddened bruise spread across its face that much more apparent. As topped off by a once-smooth back length of hair muddled by sweat, her appearance became downright suggestive.

Really, though, her appearance was not ‘news’ to Milo. Largely responsible for all three of these things, he had suggested that Milla continue their outing as she was precisely because of how perverse she looked.

He enjoyed it—likely more than was safe or healthy for him to admit.

Very much aware of their reality in spite of this enjoyment, the first words that left his lips after his fit of laughter were those of agreement.

“You do look pretty bad.” he replied, chuckling. “No one told you to agree to do it, though. If you pushed back a little, I probably would’ve dropped it.”

Immediately incensed, Milla was quick to pop her lips off of her straw and suggest otherwise.

“Oh, sure, and get you all mad at me again? No thanks. It fucking sucks, but I’ll take this over that.” she complained. “Whether or not I refuse shouldn’t matter. You shouldn’t be making me choose between humiliating myself and doing something for you in the first place.”

Suddenly very unlike the Milla of seconds prior, the completion of this utterance saw her return to drinking without another word. Her facial features did not shift away from the dull frustration mapped across them, but the air about her demeanor was altered significantly enough to wipe Milo’s smile off of his face.

His eyes told him that nothing had changed, but a pinprick of sensation inside his chest told him that Milla was pouting.

Deflated by its placement, Milo leaned inwards and exhaled.

“And you call me a cry baby…” briefly rummaging through his pocket whilst speaking, his efforts eventually saw a darkly-colored square of cloth unearthed from its depths alongside his right hand. Afterwards raising a pinched fraction of its fabric up to Milla’s mouth (this following a slight leaning of his frame towards her own), he subsequently wiped both sides of her cheeks clean of the grease that covered them without a word.

This done, he smiled weakly as if mildly proud of the job he had done.

“There. Now if anyone asks, you can just say you have a rash on your neck or something.”

Milla took to his actions almost immediately. Facially flushed by her brother’s reaching up to wipe at her face, the end of the gesture saw her extend both of her arms around his frame from the back. Paying no mind to the beverage that remained in one of them, she used her embrace of his front to draw his back into contact with her side. As soon as his frame was close enough to her own, she completed her motion set by turning her right cheek down into contact with the top of his head.

This done, she loosened.

“I really am learning something interesting every day now, huh?” she exhaled, warmly.

“L-Like that?” uncomfortable with his position yet far too accustomed to it to truly dislike it, Milo spoke out well before he could think better of doing so.

“Now I know that free games gets me a certain amount of affection from you. Unless there’s another reason for what you did, in which case I’d love to hear it ♥.”

“…You were just going to keep sulking if I didn’t. It’s one thing if we make a bet or whatever, but I’m not gonna go out of my way to make you feel uncomfortable while we’re out.”

“Is that because you love me, or because you’d feel bad for any adult who’d stupidly spend 400 dollars on a device to play video games that they don’t even like with their brother on top of spending another 60 for him?”

“Why does it have to be one of those two things? What if I’m just trying to treat you like a normal person?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not how anything works.”

  
  


“Well, it’s how I work. Since you won’t answer, I’m just going to assume that it’s a mix of both.”

“…Do whatever you want. It doesn’t make it not retarded.”

Milla did not expect any more from her brother than what she received. If denied the opportunity to properly express himself, he simply wouldn’t; it was just the way he was. Operating under this understanding from the outset of her teasing, her engagement in their back and forth represented her best attempt at normalizing intimacy. If all went to her plan plan, her attempts at initiating such hugs in the future would become slightly easier.

In her preoccupation with what she had expected, Milla left herself woefully unprepared for the provision of ‘more’. Unprompted, Milo leaned back into the side of her chest more deeply, and loosened his frame such that most of his weight was pushed against her frame.

At a glance, the shift was meaningless. He could have been adjusting himself, or perhaps even responding to all of the softness set behind his frame.

But Milla knew better.

This was a sensation that she hadn’t felt in years.

“By the way, I was going to mention this when we got back, but…”

“Its fine, I don’t really care if you actually play with me or n—”

**“I’m probably not going to go back to university after the summer.”**

Without warning, Milla’s words introduced a deafening silence into the conversation between the pair. As if choked by its weight, neither of them spoke or moved throughout the seconds most immediate to it.

Far more thoughtful than was healthy for his psyche, Milo spoke on the subject only after his curiosity overwhelmed the fear that he maintained towards the root of the matter.

“Why? Isn’t it important that you finish and get your degree and stuff?” he asked, voice more so concerned than flat.

These words found Milla poised all-too-perfectly for a response. The immediacy with which she produced it gave away her foresight as to the effect her declaration would have on Milo, but in that instant, recognizing this fact didn’t stop her from speaking.

Really, nothing could.

“It is, but I don’t really like what I’m doing. It’s better I stop now than waste more time and money.” she explained. “I’ll just take some time off to think about what I actually want to do. Dad’s still probably going to yell at me when I tell him, but coming from his only daughter, he’ll probably understand if I pout and cry and bit.”

This response covered 2 of Milo’s remaining 3 concerns. Tragically, this saddled him with the duty of raising the third on his own.

“You’re forgetting Neil. Do you really expect to keep a boyfriend that’s going to school while you’re at home?”

The smile on Milla’s face as she answered this question was so wide that it became audible.

“There you go, giving me no credit at all again.” she sighed, giggling. “I’ll have you know that Neil loves me more than enough to put up with something like that. And if he didn’t, do you _ honestly _ think that me of all people would have trouble finding another boyfriend?”

Milla waited for a rebuttal to this suggestion. She knew that she wouldn’t receive one, but where her brother was concerned, it was better to be safe than sorry.

After a second or so, her wariness proved unnecessary.

“Eeeeexactly ♥. I know you like to think I’m just a retarded bitch built for taking dick, but I’m still your sister, Milo. I can think things through just as well as you can.” she chirped.

With this, all of Milo’s most immediate concerns about his sister’s decision were accounted for. A handful of lesser, yet-to-be settled matters remained within his head, but relative to the primary issues, these were forgettable.

And forget he did…

But not simply because he could.

“I’m still kind of confused, but you’re gonna do it regardless of what I say. At least it won’t be a surprise.” he exhaled.

At a juncture wherein his words could not have been more crucial, Milo served Milla precisely what she needed on a platter. As quickly as she had embraced him, she unwrapped her arms from his front, then stood up from out of the stone seating beneath them.

On her feet, she spoke before she could be spoken to.

“Nope, that’s not true. I knew you’d have a bunch of dumb shit to say about this—that’s why I planned to do it at home where we wouldn’t have to worry about what we say.” she replied. “It’s fine, though; you can say whatever you want to say right here.”

“Before, that, though…”

Turning on her heel as though she had practiced the gesture for her entire life, Milla extended her hand out towards her brother whilst wearing a smile matronly enough to betray the pair of decades she had existed on earth.

“I think I drank too much tea. Let’s go back to that bathroom for a bit, okay ♥?”

So clearly was Milla’s intent conveyed through these words that Milo was denied an opportunity to calculate his response to them. Presented with a ‘pleasant’ suggestion whilst his feelings towards Milla were at their warmest, he acted precisely as his youthful instincts demanded. 

He stood, he smiled, and he began to walk.


End file.
